#even just a weird headache triggers this cause my head is just like “its an oncoming brain hemorrhage. its the tumor” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

timelesslords · 3 years

Note

prompts: could you write an in canon verse (so like gods and stuff are real) fic with amnesia? it could be post TLO or it could be one of them coming out of anesthesia and feeling wonky. i just love a good memory loss fic.

@halfbloodcarrie was instrumental in making this happen!!! Her adorable fluffy idea was completely paid dust in favor of making this angsty as hell but I blame her for me getting it done at all <3

read on AO3

Everything was dark. And everything hurt. His head especially was throbbing, but he couldn’t make out any other feeling. He could hear something; vague at first, just a ringing. But if he struggled, and he did, he could start to make out faint voices. His eyes refused to open, they wouldn’t even blink, but the noises were getting clearer by the second.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” a worried voice asked. Something about it felt familiar, but he couldn’t even pry his eyes open, much less figure out who it belonged to.

“He’ll wake up,” a second voice said, male this time. He sounded confident, assured. At least he thought so.

“There was so much blood, I thought… gods.”

The first voice again, though this time it wavered. It sounded scared, terrified even.

“He’ll be alright, Annabeth. He’s got a thick skull.”

That made the first voice laugh, watery as it was.

“Don’t I know it.”

Some feeling was starting to return to his limbs, slowly but surely. He tried blinking again, but it felt sluggish, slow. Suddenly he realized he could feel his arms and fingers, and there was a hand in his, gripping it so tightly it was a wonder he hadn’t felt it before.

“Percy?” the female voice asked, hopeful. He groaned. His head was pounding like nothing he’d ever felt before. Actually, he wasn’t sure if that was true, because he couldn’t remember his head pounding before, ever.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anything at all.

He blinked again, this time managing to pry his eyelids open a fraction of a degree. The light streaming in hurt like a bitch, and he groaned again, closing his eyes.

“Percy,” the first voice said again, more frantically, “Can you hear me?”

She seemed to be talking to him, though he wasn’t quite sure. He couldn’t remember his name, but she’d said Percy twice, so that had to be it, didn’t it?

He tried to say something to the girl, but it came out as a strangled groan of pain.

“Will,” she said, a little desperately.

“He’s maxed out, Annabeth, I’m sorry,” the other voice said.

The girl (Annabeth?) muttered something under her breath in-- was that Greek? And how did he know that? More determined than ever, Percy blinked again, this time managing to crack his eyelids open and keep them that way.

His vision was blurry, but a few more blinks and the vague shapes in front of him started to sharpen into focus.

“Percy?” the girl said again. Percy squinted, trying to focus on her.

The first thing he noticed was that she was-- well, pretty didn’t quite describe it. She was seriously beautiful. Her eyes were a dark grey color, currently wide with concern, her hair framing her face in cascades of golden curls. Her nose was small and button shaped, dotted with freckles.

Even if Percy didn’t currently feel like a small blacksmith’s forge was hammering on the inside of his skull, he was pretty sure he would’ve been rendered pretty speechless.

“Hey there, sleepyhead. You were out for a while,” she said, smiling. She did look relieved, but Percy didn’t miss the genuine worry behind her eyes either, the little waver along her lips trying to maintain an upbeat expression.

“I… what’s going on?” Percy asked. Annabeth bit her lip, looking over her shoulder. Percy glanced upwards, properly seeing the other person in the room for the first time. He was a teenager, with shaggy blonde hair a shade or two lighter than the girl’s. He was wearing a white lab coat over what looked to be an orange t-shirt and jeans, which didn’t exactly instill Percy with a lot of confidence in whatever medical care he was receiving.

Of course, the fact that he had no memory didn’t help matters.

“You sort of got hit in the head,” Annabeth said, wincing as she did.

“Really hard,” the boy added.

Percy reached up tentatively, to the place where it felt like his skull was splitting inside out. Instead of skin he felt something else, some thick sort of fabric.

“Ow,” he said, a little unhelpfully. The girl smiled again-- crap, how was she even more beautiful when she smiled?-- but it still had an edge of sadness to it.

“Yeah. Discus accident,” she said.

“Discus accident?” Percy asked, confused.

“Yeah. Those stone frisbee things, remember?” the other guy said.

“No,” Percy said, pushing himself into a sitting position. It made his head throb, but he couldn’t stand lying down anymore. “I don’t-- I don’t remember anything.”

“You mean-- you mean you don’t remember the accident,” Annabeth said, a little forcefully. Her grey eyes flashed, and Percy didn’t quite recognize the expression, but something in his gut told him it was not good.

“No, I mean I don’t remember anything,” Percy repeated, figuring it was best to get it out of the way sooner or later, “I don’t know where I am or who you are or who I am.”

The girl took one very long look at him. He didn’t know what exactly he had said in particular that had triggered something in her, but the concern fell from her face in an instant. She dropped his hand, something sharp overtaking her expression.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” she said. Her voice was a little thick, but Percy couldn’t tell if she was crying, because in the next second she stood and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Inadvertently, Percy felt a twinge of something sad in his chest, though he couldn’t quite place why. He didn’t know Annabeth, but she clearly seemed to know him, and what he’d said had clearly set her off.

All of this was really not improving his headache, which had resumed its throbbing with reckless abandon.

“I didn’t mean to…” Percy trailed off. To what? Upset her? Make her run away? But all he’d done was tell the honest truth-- he couldn’t remember shit. The guy was giving him a look that was bordering on disgust.

“Dude, that’s really not funny,” he said. He sounded pissed, though if Percy wasn’t entirely mistaken, there was a hint of fear behind his bright blue eyes.

“I’m not trying to be funny, I literally don’t know what’s going on,” Percy said, starting to feel a little frantic. Why was everyone here acting like they knew him? And why did he not even know him? He felt nerves and something else tugging in his gut, an insistent, terrifying pull--

Without warning, the glass next to his bed shattered, spraying water and glass everywhere. Percy flinched away from the table, whirling around to look at the boy. His eyes were wide and surprised.

“What the fuck was that?” Percy asked, alarmed.

“That was… you,” the boy said, staring at Percy like he had just grown a second head, “Styx, you’re not making this up, are you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know what’s going on for you to believe me?” Percy said, still staring wide-eyed at the place where the cup had shattered. For his own sanity, he decided to ignore the boy’s declaration that he had caused it.

“Four, apparently,” the boy said, rubbing his forehead like he could feel a headache coming on, “Unless you want to make it five for good measure?”

“I have absolutely no memory,” Percy repeated.

“Great. This is just-- this is awesome,” the boy said, sighing heavily.

“Yeah, I’m having so much fun over here,” Percy said dryly.

“Right, sorry,” the boy said, wincing, “Your name is Percy.”

So Percy had guessed that correctly. Good to know.

“My name is Will,” the boy continued, oblivious to Percy’s thoughts, “The girl was--”

“Annabeth,” Percy finished. Will perked up, hopeful, but Percy shook his head.

“I heard you say her name,” Percy explained. Will deflated.

“Oh, right,” he said. He sounded inordinately disappointed, way more disappointed than he’d been when Percy hadn’t remembered him.

“How exactly did this happen?” Percy asked, doing his best not to rub his forehead again. Will sighed.

“Some newbies were messing around with the discuses on the strawberry fields-- which is stupidly dangerous, by the way, we have an arena for a reason-- but it went a little off course and almost hit Annabeth in the face. You shoved her out of the way but it clipped your forehead pretty good.”

Percy tried to process all that, piece by piece. He didn’t know what a newbie was, and apparently wherever this place was had strawberry fields that he and Annabeth had been in together? But the strangest thing of all was that Percy didn’t feel at all surprised that he’d gotten injured trying to get Annabeth out of the way. That piece felt strangely right to him, even if everything else was messy and confusing.

“So me and Annabeth are friends, then?” he asked. Will gave him a strange look, his face paling slightly.

“You guys… you’re close. Really close.”

Percy nodded. That made sense. He didn’t know why Will was being weird about it, but he believed him regardless.

“She was mad at me,” Percy noted. At this, Will winced.

“Yeah. Memory loss… it's kind of a sore subject for her.”

“Why?” Percy asked. Maybe it was a little invasive, but this was all stuff he was supposed to know anyway, wasn’t it?

Will sighed, rubbing his face in his hands.

“Gods, I’m so not the person to be explaining this to you,” he said, “But a few years ago you sort of… disappeared. And you lost all your memories. Except you remembered her. But it was really, really tough on her, she had no idea if you were gonna know anything or not when she found you.”

Percy blinked, trying to take all that in. He had a feeling that was the hyper-condensed version of what had gone down, but it explained the situation well enough. Annabeth hadn’t considered the fact that he genuinely wouldn’t remember her, so she’d assumed it was a bad joke. Percy wished it was a bad joke, because he would give absolutely anything to remember more about her.

“Got it,” Percy said, trying not to frown, “So how did I get my memories back last time? Can we do that again?”

Will grimaced.

“I think last time you drank gorgon’s blood, but we’re fresh out of that.”

Percy stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. He looked serious, but Percy didn’t want to press it. Clearly last time had been a different sort of deal.

“So what do we do? I can’t go around like this forever.”

“Well, hopefully it's just temporary. Your head injury, plus the mortal pain meds we gave you, plus the nectar--”

“The what?” Percy asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Will said, a little hurriedly. “The point is, your brain is processing a lot of stuff right now. My best guess is that it overloaded a bit, and the amnesia is a side effect. If that’s the case it should go away on its own eventually.”

“And if it’s not the case?” Percy asked, dreading the answer a little. As predicted, WIll grimaced again.

“It could be from the initial injury. In which case it would be… more permanent.”

Percy’s mouth went a little dry.

“Goodie.”

“It probably isn’t,” Will said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“So what do we do?” Percy asked again.

“You could try going to sleep. It might give your brain a chance to readjust, chill out a little. Or…”

Will trailed off, clearly unwilling to finish his thought.

“Or?” Percy prompted.

“Or we could try to jog your memory with stuff you might remember,” Will finished. Percy didn’t understand why this option seemed to be so unpleasant to Will, since it made the most sense to him. He felt disoriented as hell, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to calm his mind down enough to sleep anytime soon. Plus, he was pretty sure he’d been unconscious for a good long while.

“How long was I asleep just now?” Percy asked.

“A while,” Will admitted.

“So let’s try the other thing.”

Will swallowed heavily, his fingers gripping the sides of his white coat a little too tightly.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said, still not sounding happy about it at all, “I’ll-- ugh. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Percy did not move, mostly because he didn’t think he could get up from his bed if he tried. Being alone gave him the chance to observe the room he was in a little bit. It was small but clean, sort of a cross between a normal bedroom and a hospital unit. The walls were made of old looking hardwood, and if he craned his head back a little bit he could almost see out the window. It looked green out there, but it was kind of hard to tell.

Nothing about this place felt familiar, but that didn’t mean much, given nothing Percy had experienced since waking up felt familiar.

Nothing except for those few flashes of feeling he’d gotten about Annabeth, anyway.

Will was gone for a long time, a lot longer than Percy had been expecting. He couldn’t tell time very well and he didn’t see a clock anywhere, but it felt like Will had to have been gone at least half an hour, maybe more. Just when Percy was about to give up and try taking a nap, the door opened again. Will was there, but this time Annabeth was in tow too.

Percy tried not to read too hard into the fact that she didn’t look happy to be there. If he wasn’t mistaken, her eyes were puffy and red from crying, though now they were narrowed in barely constrained anger, her arms folded over her chest.

Will, for his part, looked extremely nervous. That didn’t give Percy a lot of hope about how this was going to go.

“It would probably work better if you could get up and walk around, but well…” he trailed off, but Percy knew exactly why that wasn’t possible. Just keeping his eyes open had been a struggle, and he was pretty sure if he tried to stand right now he was gonna black out.

“Yeah, sounds like a bad idea,” he agreed. Annabeth said nothing, just kept staring with her jaw clenched tight.

“I figured-- you know, you remembered Annabeth last time,” Will said, still sounding nervous, “And you guys have known each other for years, so if anything is going to jog your memory… well.”

“Okay,” Percy said, easily.

Annabeth remained silent.

“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Will said, looking like he absolutely couldn’t wait to get out of the room. He did a second later, slipping out the door and shutting it behind him.

Annabeth looked extraordinarily unhappy to be there. Any care that she had displayed for him when he first woke up was apparently gone. She said nothing as she looked at him with nothing but ice in her eyes.

He didn’t know why exactly she was so pissed-- it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember anything, and wouldn’t it be worse for him anyway? But she didn’t seem keen on speaking to him anytime soon, and Percy figured it was up to him to break the ice.

“So, um. Are you single?” Percy asked. It was dumb, sure, but he didn’t remember shit, and this girl was pretty and she seemed to care about him and well? Might as well shoot his shot.

Annabeth muttered something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like I’m going to kill you. Cool. Definitely did not make her hotter to him, not even a little bit.

“I’m not single,” she said, practically glaring at him.

“Got it. Sorry,” Percy said. For just a second her eyes ducked away, sadness replacing anger. But then she looked back up, and her previous expression was reinstated.

“Why don’t we just stick to you,” she said.

“Sure,” Percy said. He didn't want to make her mad again, because he had a feeling if that kept happening it would not end well for him. He wasn’t sure what could be worse than complete and total amnesia, but looking at Annabeth he was pretty sure she could think of something.

She took a deep breath, a little unsteadily.

“Your name is Percy,” she said, “I guess Will already told you that, though.”

Percy nodded. She moistened her lips, staring down at the ground.

“Okay. What else do you want to know?”

“Where are we?” Percy asked. It wasn’t his most urgent question, but it felt like a safer one to ask. Then again, from the look on Annabeth’s face, maybe that was a miscalculation. She was biting her lip, the anger in her expression softening slightly. It seemed to be replaced by something sad though, and Percy found he almost preferred the anger.

“It’s… a little hard to explain. But we’re at a camp. A summer camp. It’s-- it’s where we met.”

“Why are we here now?” Percy asked. Annabeth shrugged.

“We’re just visiting,” she said.

“Together?” Percy asked. She stared at him, swallowing heavily.

“Yeah. Together,” she said, though she was clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Okay then. Time for a new line of questioning. A safer line, one that hopefully wouldn’t put her on the verge of tears.

“What’s my favorite color?” he asked.

“Blue,” she said, instantly.

“Favorite food?”

“Anything blue,” she said, just as fast.

“I eat blue food?” Percy asked, confused. She smiled for the first time since he’d told her his memory was gone. It was small, but it still made his heart flutter.

“Yeah. It’s sort of an inside joke with you and your mom,” she said. The smile faded just as fast as it had come, but her answer had inadvertently given Percy more information than he’d expected.

“So I’m close to my mom?” Percy asked, unable to help it. Annabeth nodded again. She took a tentative step forward, sitting back down on the chair beside his bed.

“Who else?” he asked, without thinking. Annabeth frowned, a little confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean--” Percy started, realizing this might be a little too much too soon, but wanting to know so badly he couldn’t help but ask anyway, “I mean, who else am I close to?”

Annabeth didn’t answer for a long minute. She was looking down at the ground again, her hands gripping her own shoulders, arms shielding her chest. She seemed to be contemplating something, though what it was, Percy wasn’t sure.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that question. Maybe it was too personal-- with a start Percy realized that Annabeth was probably a pretty high priority for him, given the scant details he knew about their relationship, and him not knowing that intrinsically had to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Just forget it, tell me something else.”

She finally looked back up at him, though she still seemed upset and unsure.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, though she was clearly forcing her voice not to waver, “Like I said, you’re close to your mom, her name is Sally. You have a sister named Estelle and a brother named Tyson. And your best friend is--” she stumbled, but found herself again, “His name is Grover.”

Percy noticed that Annabeth’s own name was conspicuously absent from that list. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut, all things considered, but his curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to know this more than anything.

“What about you?” he asked, voice quiet.

It took her less time to answer than he expected, but she was still quiet for a minute.

“You asked me if I was single,” she said finally, eyes ducked down, a rosy blush growing in her cheeks, “And I said no because-- because we’re dating. We have been for a while.”

“Oh,” Percy said. He could feel his own face getting red, even though this was kind of great news-- or maybe not so great news, considering his stupid brain still couldn’t remember shit. But it still felt right, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Of course he was dating her. That was just correct, an inalienable fact he felt dumb for not knowing, despite not knowing anything at all.

“Yeah,” she said, “But you don’t remember, so… so I don’t know anymore, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, and he felt it. He felt like an idiot, both for trying to flirt with her earlier, and for not putting the pieces together sooner. The hand holding probably should have given it away, at the very least.

To his surprise, Annabeth gave him a small smile, even though her eyes were a little red. She wiped them on her sleeve, clearly trying not to do it in an obvious way.

“Sorry, it’s just-- that’s so you,” she said, sniffling a little.

“What’s so me?” Percy asked. He felt stupid, oblivious, but she just smiled again, a touch wider this time.

“Apologizing for something that isn’t even your fault.”

“I really am sorry,” Percy said, and he felt worse with every word, “I want to remember, I do, it’s just-- all of it’s gone.”

“I know,” she said. She sounded defeated. “I guess it would be too much to ask for you to remember me twice, huh?”

She said it like a joke, but Percy could feel the real pain behind her words. He felt an ache in his chest, like a phantom pain he couldn’t quite place, something in him mirroring her own hurt. He wanted so badly to comfort her, but he didn’t know how.

Or maybe he did. His brain was a jumbled mess, but he did know the only things that had made him feel anything since he’d woken up had to do with her.

“I… I almost get flashes,” he admitted, glancing up at her again. She wasn’t quite meeting his eye, looking somewhere over his shoulder, but he continued anyway. “When you say or do things… It’s like my body knows what to feel but my mind doesn’t know why.”

She glanced up, her eyes finally meeting his own. They were still shining with tears, though not as intensely as before.

“Like how?” she asked, simply. Percy swallowed heavily, not exactly sure what to say. It was hard to describe, given he’d barely recognized his own feelings.

“Like… like when you left, before. I was upset but I didn’t know why. I didn’t know you but I knew… I knew that was supposed to hurt, somehow. And when Will told me about how I got hurt in the first place, how I was trying to keep the frisbee thing from hitting you-- that felt right, but I don’t know why.”

She had graduated to crying in earnest now, tears slipping out of the corner of her eyes and falling down her cheeks. Percy felt the inexplicable urge to reach out and brush them away, but he knew he couldn’t. And that hurt too for some reason, a hollow aching in his chest he couldn’t quite place even though the reason for it was standing right in front of him.

“And right now,” Percy continued, even though maybe he shouldn’t, “You’re upset and I just feel this urge to do something, and I can’t because I don’t know how.”

“Percy, please--” she said, still crying, her voice rough with tears. He didn’t know what she was begging for, but he couldn’t help his next words slipping out, like his tongue knew more what to do than his mind.

“I don’t know anything about me, but I know-- I know I love you. I can feel it. I’m not just saying it either, I swear I can feel it.”

“Percy,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper this time.

“You have to help me, Annabeth. I don’t know what to do,” he said, and this time it was his turn for his voice to get thick, a lump in his throat obscuring his words.

“I--” she started, swallowing heavily, eyes welling with tears again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes you do,” Percy said, and he was sure she did, something in him just knew, “You always do, don’t you?”

That felt right too, even if he couldn’t place why, but it seemed to mean more to her than to him. She stared at him, eyes wide and scared. She was so close now, close enough that he could see every freckle on her nose.

Annabeth looked so panicked that for a second a second, Percy thought she was going to hit him, but then she did the opposite. She leaned over and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and sweet, and she tasted like strawberries and salt. His lips seemed to know exactly what to do, moving against hers like they’d kiss her a thousand times-- and maybe they had. His hand moved, almost of its own accord to her hair, tangling in it, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer--

And then it hit him. The scent of her shampoo, lemony and sharp and familiar.

He gasped, not meaning to, but she pulled back, grey eyes wide.

“Percy?” she asked, hopeful even as she tried to hide it.

“Annabeth,” he said, trying not to panic as things started to float through his mind-- more than things, memories. Her face and her voice and her words, the feeling of her hand in his and her smile against his lips, it all started to flood back like it had never left.

“Are you--” she asked, her hands on his shoulders, gripping tight, too tight, but he didn’t even care.

“Annabeth,” he breathed, saying her name like a revelation, because it was, “You’re Annabeth Chase, you’re my girlfriend and an architect and you’re scared to death of spiders and you still sleep with a teddy bear--”

She cut him off at that last point, throwing her arms around him and hugging him harder than she ever had-- except for maybe that time she’d thought he was dead for two weeks and he’d crashed his own funeral. Percy hugged her back just as hard, because he actually remembered that.

It hadn’t all come back-- things were blurry, most things, actually. But Annabeth at least felt clear in his mind, a shining beacon welcoming the rest of his memories back. He was already starting to get a headache again, but he didn’t care. They would come back. And even if they didn’t-- he had her. That was enough.

She pulled back from her bone crushing embrace, keeping their faces so close their noses were almost touching. She seemed scared that if she pulled away he might too, even though he had no intention of doing so, physically or mentally.

“So you’re back? Really?” she asked, sounding scared to know the answer.

“Sort of,” Percy confirmed, wincing as he did. He really was starting to get a pounding headache. “I remember you. And bits and pieces of other things, but mostly you.”

Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a long moment.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispered, her hands trailing up his neck, just barely scraping his hair.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he breathed. And he did know, now better than ever. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he’d woken up without his memory, but he knew every minute of it had to have been hell for her.

Annabeth sighed, pulling back further, so he could see her whole face. Her eyes were still red from crying, and her cheeks were still flushed from their kiss. But he could see the barest traces of humor in her expression, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth where a smile was being repressed.

“What?” he asked, but she just shook her head.

“It’s nothing,” she said, but her smile had grown.

“Come on, I just had amnesia. You have to tell me.”

She laughed, a light tinkling sound. It was just on the edge of being hysterical, but she deserved it, after the day she’d been having.

“Fine. I was just thinking-- Hera couldn’t make you forget me but a glorified frisbee could?” Annabeth said.

“Hey, it was heavy!” Percy protested, but he couldn’t help but grin as he did. He would probably stay grinning for the rest of his life, actually.

“You’re such an idiot,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug again, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Percy said, hugging her back. And now he knew he did, in a permanent, tangible way.

There was still a lot missing, but he had the most important bits down. His name was Percy Jackson. He was twenty years old, and in college and a demigod, and lots of other things that would surely return with time.

And he loved Annabeth Chase more than anything in the world.

#this is so cheesy and so long <3 #bon apple teeth #percabeth #percy jackson #percabeth fic #pjo #annabeth chase #pjo fic #percabeth fanfic #i already have more prompts in my inbox than i will realistically every finish #so on a technical level i am not taking more #but if you send one and i like it i might write it anyway lmao #no guarantees though!!

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XVI - - - - Part XVII - - - - XVIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Author’s Note: This chapter may contain triggering material. Depicts canon-typical violence and deals heavily with themes concerning the aftermath of attempted suicide.

“Commander- Cody- CODY! Would you wait up.”

Someone was calling his name, but now that the briefing was over Cody was having trouble focusing past the faint ringing in his ears. He worked furiously to move past the white noise and marshal his sluggish thoughts towards overseeing the shuttling of the remaining on-planet 212th back to the Negotiator, and finishing crew complement reports for General Krell and-

He had barely gotten his train of thought back on track when it was derailed by someone grabbing his shoulder. He barely managed to restrain himself from punching the irritant in the visor.

“What is it, Waxer?” he asked impatiently.

“Can we talk? Alone?”

“Fine.” Cody grunted.

Waxer dragged him into the closest small armament room. At a sharp gesture from Waxer, the few milling clones inside quickly shuffled out.

Waxer pulled off his helmet, eyes wide and sad.

“Cody-” he said hesitantly. “I’m not going to pretend that I completely understand what’s going on, but I’m here for you, whatever you need, if you ever want to talk. I never even told Boil about the- the trip to the temple, or any of it, ok? But I’m really worried about you and I want you to know that you can trust me- even if you just need a shoulder to lean on.”

The ringing in Cody’s head got louder. A beat passed.

“Is that all?” Cody finally asked. “I have work to do.”

“...yeah, that was all.”

Cody made for the door but was stopped by a frantic cry.

“I’m Sorry!” Waxer half-shouted. “I’m sorry- you told us something was wrong and we just laughed and I’m so sorry Commander. And then when you started getting weird and the General wasn’t answering comms I just assumed things were good, but then we found he was sick and I was making jokes about bedrest while he was in sickbay- and then I was remembering the surveillance you put on the Cantina and I made jokes about that at the time but I was right next to him at the bar while you over at the table and now I can stop thinking that he got poisoned while I was right next to him at the bar. And then General Skywalker stepped down from Command this morning and I don’t even want to imagine what would make him do that. And I don’t know what the kark all that was with Krell but I’m so sorry Commander- I feel like everything I say is making things worse but I- I’m sorry.”

It took a while for Cody’s sluggish mind to process all that. He stared blankly at Waxer as he quivered at attention.

“Waxer...” The ringing had stopped, and was now replaced with a growing headache. “None of the General’s injuries or anything are your fault, ok? I- its classified and I don’t- I don’t know what happened this morning but...nothing actually happened in the Cantina. You have to keep this secret- but...” Cody hesitated over how much to say.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Practically the only thing I do know for sure is that he wasn’t poisoned. It was just regular alcohol and at most it made him slightly vulnerable... Anyway nothing was your fault so just- focus on the mission. Ok?”

Waxer stared at Cody. He cleared his throat. “You said Injuries.”

“What?” No I- what are you talking about?” Cody asked weakly.

“Commander. You said injuries. Not illness. Are you telling me that the General was attacked?” Waxer asked, voice growing quiet and angry. “Are you telling me that the General was attacked and High Command lied to us about it?”

Cody responded with similar hushed irritation, “No! Waxer- look. I can’t talk about this, it’s-”

“I swear to the force if you say classified I don’t care if you are my commanding officer I will slug you.” Waxer took in a shaky breath, clenching his fists. “Is this why you’ve been wearing your bucket? Because you can’t look your troopers in the face while you lie to us about a threat to the 212th?”

“That’s enough lieutenant- there are things you don’t know-”

“Yeah, because I’m being lied to- I’m supposed to be your lieutenant and even if you couldn’t tell me everything I at least trusted that you wouldn’t lie-”

“We didn’t lie- illness is the best description because even if we don’t understand what caused it, that’s what caused the injuries, and the troops needed to know this isn’t going to be fixed even once he’s technically out of the Bacta tank.”

“What the kriff kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank-”

“Fuck. Waxer, please. I can’t do this-”

Waxer stepped forward as Cody shifted back.

“Cody. Seriously. What kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank? That- that doesn’t even make sense.”

"It’s class-”

“What do you mean the alcohol made him ‘vulnerable’?”

“Lieutenant, I’ve got to back to work-”

Waxer grabbed his arm before he could pull away.

“Commander, was this an attack or not?”

“We- we don’t know. There’s Jedi bantha fodder involved...and, Waxer you can’t discuss this with anyone, I can’t-”

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t know- how could it not be clear if his injuries were caused by an attack or an illness?”

Cody yanked his arm away and shoved Waxer back with his shoulder. The lieutenant quickly regained his balance and charged forward, tackling the commander to the ground, helmet make a hard thud as it made contact with the duracrete floor. They rolled around, each trying to gain leverage over the other.

Cody managed to get on top, knee driving harshly into Waxer’s back, pinning him down. After that, it only took a few more seconds to twist one of Waxer’s arm behind his back.

“Fine!” Cody sneered, pressing hard on his Lieutenant’s neck with one hand while yanking the trapped arm painfully. “You really want to know?!”

“Obviously, asshole” Waxer grit out.

“The general tried to karking kill himself and we have no idea why.”

“no-”

“Or rather we have too many ideas why. Did you know Jedi can take psychic damage from being around too many violent thoughts? Or that the General got abandoned in a fucking planetary civil war when he was a cadet?”

“that-”

Of course, he could have just had a vision that melted his brain and actually he wanted to wake up by killing himself. And if that’s true than it means he vividly remembers the nightmare shit from the hovercar ride. Remember that stuff? Temple burning? Us firing at him while mind controlled? Yeah, could be he just thinks that’s more real than reality, and he’s never going to be able to move on from stuff we didn’t even do. And he might never believe anything we say or do is real ever again.”

“I-”

“Of course, it could be some sort of crazy dark forbidden Jedi attack from Dooku or Ventress because they’re still running around despite all the times we’ve almost captured them, and if it is that then there’s not a karking thing we can do to defend him!”

“Cody, please-”

Cody breathed heavily for a second, staring uncomprehendingly at the trooper pinned beneath him. After a moment, everything clicked into place and he scrambled back, stopping when his back hit a sealed munitions rack. Waxer gasped for breath.

“Fuck- Waxer, I am so sorry, that was, kriff, you shouldn’t have found out that way- I shouldn’t have told you like that, I’m so sorry. I- are you ok?

"Oh yes, I’m doing great,” Waxer wheezed. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Cody replied automatically, wincing immediately at the absurdity of the sentence.

“Wizard, so glad we had this conversation.” Waxer coughed, voice starting to get back to normal.

The door clicked open and a trooper Cody didn’t recognize stepped in, looked between Cody, who was braced defensively with his knees up, and Waxer who was panting face down, a small distance away. He immediately stepped back into the hall, not saying a word, door clicking swiftly closed again, lock audibly activating.

Waxer flopped over to lay on his back, head turned to the side to pin his Commander in place.

“...Thanks for telling me, Cody.” Waxer said quietly.

Cody thunked his head back. “You wish you never asked, fuck off.”

Waxer sat up with a groan, “No...Cody you shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself.”

“...Rex knows. Not- not everything I just said. But the basics.”

“Good.” Waxer crawled over to sit next to his Commander, sitting back heavily.

“...I’m sorry, Cody. If Boil ever- I’m just...really sorry.”

Cody dropped his head to his knees. “I can’t let myself feel like that, Waxer,” he rasped. “I was already hanging by a thread and then- I thought he was there at the meeting for a second, and I- the men need me, I can’t focus on stuff that’s going to make me go nuts.”

“Um... you mean you thought he was there, when the Jedi were ‘sensing’ him?” the lieutenant asked tentatively.

“...yeah,” Cody sighed.

“That sounds like force stuff.”

Cody hummed in response.

Waxer took a deep breath. “Did- did it seem like he died?”

“I don’t...know,” Cody answered softly. “He- was there. And then he wasn’t.”

There was a long pause before the Lieutenant spoke, deliberately cheerful.

“Well then, I bet he’s alive. He’s obviously not very good at dying.”

Cody choked on a harsh breath, coughing heavily enough that he finally yanked off his helmet to suck in air.

“For- for force sake, Waxer-”

“You said you couldn’t go nuts,” Waxer said, shoving him with his shoulder. “We’re soldiers, right? This is how we deal with horrific shit that no one should ever have to think about, let alone have to keep to himself for fear of demoralizing an entire army, eh?”

“Waxer...”

The trooper climbed to his feet with a groan, ignoring his commanding officer.

“Come on, let’s get those kriffing manifests completed for Master Krell. I’ll make sure you keep going. For our Vode.” He offered a hand down to Cody, who tentatively accepted it. Waxer yanked him to his feet, drawing his Commander in for a quick, crushing hug, before ducking down to pick up the discarded buckets.

They both pulled on their helmets, puffy eyes and swollen lips hidden neatly.

“For our Vode,” Cody repeated.

They unlocked the door, joining the throng, all company marching to the familiar rhythm of a quickly ticking deployment countdown.

Next (Part XX)

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #potentially triggering #violence #suicide references #star wars fanfiction #star wars au

209 notes · View notes

kim-seungmine · 4 years

Text

moonlit

title: moonlit

characters: fem!reader x lee minho (lee know) of stray kids feat. bang chan, kim seungmin, hwang hyunjin, kid!yang jeongin

genres: exes to lovers au, romance, angst, based on eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, chan’s one sided love if you squint real hard, bff!seungjin.

warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking and food, mentions of insecurity/emptiness, minho is lowkey a flirt (and smooth af), this one is WORDY, sometimes nonlinear (flashbacks marked in italics, phase 2 completely happens in the past), lots of inner conflicts, watch me repeat the same words again and again.

word count: 14k

synopsis: after a nasty breakup, you have lee minho clinically erased from your mind... only to be reminded that while memories can be erased and forgotten, feelings will always demand to be felt.

Phase 1: Awakening

You clamp your shaking legs together, desperately trying to look like you’ve got it all together. The carton box on your lap feels heavier with each passing second as you wait for your name to be called. When the receptionist finally tells you to enter the consulting room, your head is full of him. His laugh, his voice, his touches, his smile, his empty promises, his lies, his last words…

This is why you’re doing this. You want him gone.

“Miss Y/N, please have a seat.” The doctor, Seo Changbin, motions at you to sit at the back of the room. A nurse places a tripod in front of you, setting the camera so it will capture your whole body. “Your sessions will be recorded, and we will keep all the recordings as archive. These recordings are confidential unless they’re needed for national security purposes. And, of course, if you wish to get your memories back in the future.”

Dr. Seo smiles, the calming tone in his voice doesn’t match the weight of his words. “You… you can restore the memories back?”

“I can’t,” he answers. “Patients are usually able to remember some past memories when triggered. And at least you will be reminded of why you want to do the erasure procedure in the first place. There are a lot of patients who regret doing this, and the last thing we want is to get sued because people make the wrong choices for themselves. I’m sure you have already read that part on the consent form.”

Great, you’re going to stop him from messing with your head by letting strangers literally damaging your brain.

“I won’t sue you. Let’s get this over with.”

“Sure.” Dr. Seo points at the camera. “Now, tell us everything, starting with who you want to erase.”

You grip your box tighter, as if to check if all the things inside still cause you pain no matter how many times you’ve seen them. You could have done this the normal way—crying, cutting your hair, even turning to God for help.

The thing is, one of these days the pain is going to swallow you up, and then you’ll be left with nothing. Nothing but an empty shell.

You should have been able to do this the normal way, but you’re too weak. Can’t you be weak for once? You can, right?

Clearing your throat, you stare at the lens. “Lee Minho.”

“Lee Minho,” you repeat. Louder. Clearer. “I’d like to erase Lee Minho.”

Chan finishes his beer in one gulp while you’re still struggling to open yours. It’s a shame, really—you drink almost every week, he drinks twice a year. He tosses the now empty can to the trashcan before opening another with ease, handing it to you. Mumbling a quiet thank you, you take a sip and watch him tear a pack of dried squids open.

“You’ll never go to those parties again,” he says. “I didn’t know my parents invited you because of that.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. They meant well.”

He pulls his hair in frustration. “I can’t believe they said that in front of everyone! You must’ve been so shocked. I’m sorry.”

You grimace, the unwanted attention was indeed quite embarrassing. Enough to make you politely reject the next time Chan’s parents invite you to another gala. Mr. and Mrs. Bang have always been supportive of their eldest son, letting Chan started his own business instead of taking over the family business. Chan’s mother had called you a few days prior, asking you to accompany her son since it would be a good opportunity to “build connection and expand your business.”

You and Chan did exactly that, so it wasn’t like they were lying. But Chan’s parents also used the opportunity to try to convince the two of you that you’re match made in heaven.

“Can we drop this?” You glance at your watch, stretching your limbs before rising from your seat. The traffic light turns red and you signal at your best friend to walk faster. “I keep getting flashbacks of CEO Kang’s son laughing at us.

Chan follows suit, placing his hand at the small of your back before crossing the street. You let out a relieved sigh when you reach the warm subway station. “Kang Younghyun has more embarrassing incidents than ours combined,” he scoffs. “This is nothing compared high school. No worries.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?” he asks as you train is arriving. “I should’ve brought the car instead of letting my parents drive us to the party.”

You click your tongue at him. “Then you’ll miss the last train.”

“I can take a cab home. You always fall sleep on the train it’s giving me headache!”

“Bang Chan.”

The train stops and opens its doors. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Just don’t fall asleep.”

“No promises!” you tease, stepping into the train a second before it closes. You wave at Chan until he disappears into a small dot before choosing the seat beside the door. The train is almost empty; standing near the door is a high school student listening to an online lecture and sitting across you is…. the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. He meets your eyes for a second before shifting his attention back to his phone again, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You despise socializing at parties but you want the Hottest Man Alive to talk to you? Y/N you’re so pathetic.

The sight of a bundle of name cards inside your purse is what gives you a reality check, various names and faces are popping up in your mind. Only now you feel how exhausted you are, parties and talking to a bunch of strangers have never been your thing. You take your platform heels off just as the train makes its stop, one of them almost hitting Hottest Man Alive as a result.

Apparently God has decided to make you the embarrassment icon of the day.

“I’m so sorry!” you panic, about to reach your flying heel when he stands up and picks it up. He silently places it in front of you before pulling out a card out of his pocket.

“It’s okay, just check out our café when you have time.” Hottest Man Alive slips the card into your palm, rendering you speechless with his bashful smile.

Oh, you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

You run your eyes over the black embossed letters once more, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat as you mentally convince yourself that he does want you to pay his café a visit. Your whole life has always been normal, so alarmingly calm and peaceful it makes you question your whole existence. Sometimes it feels like you’re living in someone else’s dream, foreign and temporary. Uncertain and insecure.

Last night was… weird, to say the least. You’ve never felt that attracted to someone before, not even your ex-boyfriends. In that moment, you felt unstoppable, carefree, happy… everything that wasn’t you.

Sadly, that moment didn’t last long and now you’re back to your overthinking self. What if he was just playing with you? Will he find you desperate or, God forbid, easy if you actually show up at his café? But what café owners don’t want a new customer? Besides, you’re bringing Chan, so Hottest Man Alive (or Lee Minho, according to his name card) is getting two new customers. If anything, he will be thanking you and hoping you will come again, just like any normal business owner.

“Hey,” Chan calls out to you, knocking on the car window. “We’re here, daydreamer.”

You shove the card back into your wallet, met with Chan’s confused eyes when you finally open the door. “You okay?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You look so out of it.”

Chan knows nothing about your encounter with Hottest Man Alive; he would’ve freaked out if he knew you wanted to visit a café because a random (handsome) stranger told you so. “Just thirsty. It’s so hot,” you mumble.

Eat Here Café gives off the homey atmosphere that immediately calms your nerves. You quickly scan the whole building, looking for any sign of Hottest Man Alive. You feel lighter yet bummed that he’s not there, except for some photos of him with a group of children pinned on the wall.

You choose a table near the cashier. “I’ll order. What do you want?”

Chan shrugs. “Any kind of cake.”

The puppy-like part timer greets you with a smile when you reach the counter. “Good afternoon, what would you like to order?”

“Injeolmi bingsu and Coke, please. Oh, and a vanilla cake!”

He repeats your order politely and you decide that you like the boy, taking a glance at his nametag that says Kim Seungmin. You never really pay attention to part timers before, but this one is remarkably efficient, polite, and very very cute (in a “I’d like to adopt him!” way).

You drop some cash into the tipping jar, the twinkle in Seungmin’s eyes feels so rewarding that you’re ready to put it into your “little things that made my day” on your journal later. He hands you the buzzer with a bright smile. “Please wait for your order!”

“Your stingy ass never gives such a generous tip. Did he flirt with you or something?” Chan marvels—loud enough to get Seungmin’s attention—when you return to your table. There are times when you regret being Chan’s business partner, but you realize that you’ve invested so much of your time and energy into building the company. That, and Chan is actually a dependable friend when he’s not trying to ruin your image.

Chan gets your order after the buzzer vibrates, digging into his cake right away. “Whoa this is good!” he exclaims. “How did you find this place?”

“…Instagram.”

“Do you think they hired a branding consultant already?”

You shake your head. “They post pretty regularly but I don’t think so.”

Chan’s eyes sparkle. “Do you think we should ask to meet the owner or something?”

“Hey Seungmin, iced Americano please! And remind me to pay your bonus later.”

The faintly familiar voice stops you from answering, your eyes wildly searching for the source. And there he is… the one you’ve been dreading to meet and also the one you’ve been yearning to meet. Lee Minho saunters into the café with his charming bunny smile and soft eyes, earning everyone’s attention except for Seungmin who’s still taking orders.

Seungmin only replies with a short hum, not taking his eyes off the cash register. You glance at Minho, mentally surprised by the way he doesn’t seem to be bothered with how Seungmin treats him.

“Quit staring before you start embarrassing yourself,” Chan warns you in the most boring tone. “I think he’s the owner.”

You almost spit out your drink. “I’m not staring!”

Minho exchanges some words with Seungmin before focusing his attention to all the customers. Your bingsu is melting, but you still follow his every move through your peripheral vision, not knowing whether you want him to recognize you.

“You really came!”

Chan points at himself, then at you. “Us?”

Minho shifts his gaze to Chan like he didn’t even notice the dimpled man was there whole time.

“Ah… y-yes,” you stutter. “This is very a nice café.”

One look at Chan and you know there’s no way for you to hide anymore. “He invited me!” you quip. “I mean, us.”

“Do you have anyone handling your social media accounts? Planning the digital marketing? Creating ads?” You have bombarded Minho with questions before Chan says anything, skipping the whole small talk step in “how to smoothly intrigue clients” manual.

Seungmin arrives with Minho’s iced Americano, putting the tall glass in front of him with no words before smiling at you and Chan. “Does any of you want anything else?”

“Yes, please,” Minho interrupts before you can refuse. “Please order whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“Pulling the boss card, huh?” Chan jokes. “Then I’ll have orange juice.”

“Y/N?”

You didn’t have a chance to try the vanilla cake Chan ordered because he inhales food instead of digesting them, but the chocolate ice cream looks beyond tempting—

Minho chuckles. “How about our vanilla and chocolate ice cream?”

“Did I say that out loud?” you mumble to yourself, but proceed to thank Minho for his suggestions and tell Seungmin you’d like to have those. Minho flashes you a soft smile, almost making you melt on the spot if it weren’t for Chan’s leg kicking yours.

The conversation continues without any embarrassing incident. Chan lets you do all the talking, only adding further details when necessary while Minho asks you challenging but intriguing questions you answer passionately.

The so-called meeting ends with Minho promising to sign the contract by next week and Chan shaking your hand under the table, both confused and impressed.

“Is that why your employees are so relaxed around you? Because you just want everyone to eat and live well? I swear Seungmin didn’t even try to curse discreetly when you told him to wipe the counter for the 5th time,” you ask.

Minho laughs as the said boy exits his station, backpack slung across his shoulder. “Yes I’ll transfer your money after our guests leave. Don’t you dare remind me again!” the former yells playfully before the part timer opens his mouth. Seungmin bows to you and Chan before scowling at his boss. “You’re the one who told me to—nevermind. See you tomorrow, hyung.”

“I really like that boy,” you coo when Seungmin closes the door.

“I treat them as my friends,” Minho says. “I decided to do this because I just want to help everyone, including my employees. I don’t want Eat Here to be one of those expensive, pretentious cafes. I just want everyone to eat what they want, that’s why we have all sorts of things here. Combination of Eastern and Western, stuff like that. But this is still business, I have to do things to keep it running, right?”

You’ve met a lot of people with beautiful visions, but you’ve never met someone who wants something so simple yet complicated like Minho. It’s been quite a long time since you’re genuinely excited for a project, and now you know why Chan didn’t freak out upon knowing that you met Minho on the train.

“You guys can do whatever you want,” Minho adds, waving to a pair of part timers clocking in. “Are you going back to the office?”

Chan stretches his limbs. “Yeah,” he groans. “Gotta make sure our intern doesn’t jam the printer again.”

Your phone rings the moment Chan finishes his sentence. ”You jinxed it! Hyunjin is calling.”

“Whatever it is, wait until we’re back!” you whisper-yell at your intern.

“But noona, the printer—”

You give Hyunjin no chance to blabber about one specific printer and end the call. Minho giggles at your antiques, and you don’t have the energy to stop yourself from admiring his pretty features in the most obvious ways possible.

Chan pats your back before grabbing his phone and stands up. “I guess that’s our cue to leave.”

“Take these.” Minho writes your name on one of the paper bags, handing them to you with a big smile. “For everyone at your office. Thanks for reaching out to us.”

You peek inside the bag that has your name scribbled on it, not surprised to see both vanilla and chocolate ice cream inside—it’s the clear bottle that you’re curious about.

“Bye! I’ll send you the gym’s contact later!” Your best friend slash business partner waves at your new client slash crush from the driver’s seat. You take out the bottle, it’s filled with sikhye.

Your favorite drink, but Minho isn’t supposed to know that.

“Everyone deserves a fresh start. Don’t let anyone from your past haunt you. Start Erasure now.”

Minho mutes the television, heaving a sigh as he recounts his fateful meeting with you yesterday. The world has always been rather weird, he would say, but nothing defeats meeting his ex-girlfriend—his first love—who has no recollection of your time together. He heard from his former classmates that you sent them a message a few years ago, informing them that you would undergo the erasure procedure. According to his friends, you specifically told them to “never ever mention Lee Minho’s name or ask you about the procedure.”

You’re back in his life now, happy as ever, and the last thing Minho wants is breaking your heart all over again. He no longer owns that special spot in your heart, you owe him nothing. He left you insecure, disappointed and soulless, and now it’s his turn to be haunted by all the questions and what ifs in his mind.

His phone vibrates as soon as he flips the signage open, your name flashing on his screen. “Hey Y/N what’s up?”

“Minho I can’t multitask so please give me quick and accurate answer. I’m at the traffic light in front of Lotte now—”

“You need to turn left.”

“Okay… didn’t know my non-existent sense of direction is that obvious — damn, let me change lanes.”

Minho suppresses a chuckle. You’ve always been bad with directions.

“Turn left once more, and you’ll find us. We’re right across the first G25 store on the street.”

He steps out the café to welcome you when he spots a white Kia arriving. In contrast to his horrifying memories of teaching you to drive, you manage to parallel-park your car smoothly in 10 seconds, stopping Minho from offering to help you park your car.

“Sorry,” you grimace. “I suck at directions. Last week was the first time I went here and Chan was the one driving so I wasn’t really paying attention… and before you ask, no I can’t use GPS while driving. I barely managed to dial your number.”

Minho lifts his hands. “I was just going to say hello.”

“Oh, good! People always judge me for that!”

You don’t let him respond as you point at the photos on the wall. “Tell me about them!” you request. “Our photographer Hyunjin is going to be here any minute, and we’ll give this corner a special attention. Your customers need to know this.”

Minho scratches his head bashfully, the glint of admiration in your eyes is making him a bit dizzy. It’s been a long time since you looked at him like that. “Uhh, okay. These are the kids I’m supporting, they live in Africa,” he starts. “I hope I can visit them someday, but they’ve been sending me letters, saying thank you... telling me about their days and all.”

“Wow!” you marvel. “How does it feel? To receive such lovely letters?”

“Honestly, it kinda makes me feel like a parent,” he replies. “It feels wonderful.”

Moving onto the next set of photos, his smile grows wider. “I teach these kids dancing, sometimes taekwondo. They’re all very sweet, especially the maknae, Yang Jeongin.” Minho points at a boy with contagious smile. “He can be a brat sometimes, but everyone loves him.”

“Is this an orphanage? Can I meet them?” you blurt out.

“Of course! You’ll love them to bits.”

“You have to come back with Y/N noona!”

A few weeks later, Minho took you to the orphanage. You played with the kids all day and watched him teach them dance. You thought the kids wouldn’t like you as much, but now they’re trying to persuade you to stay the night.

“Aww, of course I’ll come back. Be a good boy, and we’ll be back sooner than you thought!”

Yang Jeongin, the youngest boy in the orphanage, has done everything to make you stay. If it weren’t for your “adult responsibilities,” you would have caved in because nothing could beat his puppy eyes and hopeful smile.

“Alright, go back inside, everyone. All of you need to sleep.”

The kids grumble at Minho’s command, slowly walking back to the main hall. After making sure no one sneaks out to follow you, the two of you make a stop at a nearby park that Minho claims to be the perfect place to admire the moon.

“Okay, you’re not lying. The moon does look pretty from here.”

The man sitting beside you smirks in satisfaction. “I never stay too long but I always like spending time here. Now that I think about it, you kinda resemble the moonlight.”

The switch of the mood has you cackling. “Aren’t everything about the moon associated with werewolves and murders? You’re expecting me to fall for such a lame pickup line?”

“That’s not how I see it.” Minho disagrees. “I think you’re radiant, bright but not blinding. Take it as a compliment.”

The word radiant strikes you light a lightning, forces you to face the harsh reality that you’re doing a really good job in hiding the hollowness inside—all the lingering questions and uneasiness. You’re far from being the light Minho admires.

“Trust me, I’m not radiant whatsoever.”

Minho stiffens, observing you carefully until you feel brave enough to look at him. At first, you see pity in his eyes, but it morphs into something that feels too good to be true. You find tranquil in his gaze, so serene that you nearly let your tears fall.

He reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers together before pulling you up from your seat. “I’ll tell you whenever you’re being the moonlight that you are,” he promises, his voice is a perfect mix between sincerity and mischief. “Prepared to get sick of me because I’ll remind you everyday.”

Just because most people often cross the line doesn’t mean that being able to exert self-control when needed is something to be proud about, but Minho has always thought of it as his positive trait.

He’s going to cross it out of the list today.

His hand is still holding yours tightly, chatting away with a lopsided smile on his face. And yours. This wasn’t what he intended to do, but life loves to play God and tests him the moment he thinks he knows what he’s doing. Giving you his name card on the train has spiraled into taking you home hand-in-hand, peppering kisses on your temple when you become too cute to handle (which is almost all the damn time) and falling in love with you all over again. What happened in the subway impulsive and dumb, but he couldn’t control himself. He wanted to see you again, he longed to talk to you.

Minho just wanted a second chance to be good to you, but will things ever be enough? How will he make things right again? Providing you free coffee and say thank you for your visit? It was a selfish wish he shouldn’t have acted upon.

“We must’ve crossed paths somehow. There’s no way that we’ve never met before!” you say, swinging your intertwined hands happily.

It’s too late. History repeats itself, but Minho’s too far gone to stop. He’s trying to feel it, the need to exert self-control—he can’t.

“I didn’t come home often,” he lies, every word feels like knife stabbing his heart. You hum in response, a yawn escaping from your mouth as both of you are nearing your unit. Minho watches you enter the door password, mouthing the numbers silently, 2 3 0 9. Your grandma’s birthday. It’s always been your password for everything—phone, laptop, even Minho’s old apartment since you were the one who set it for him. It stays with him until this very day although he no longer lives in the same apartment.

You tug at his sleeve. “Come on in.”

Your stuffs are pretty much the same, if not exactly the same as a few years ago. The only things missing were those related to him. Polaroid photos of you together, the umbrella he left at your place, the mug he…. wait.

The purple mug Minho bought for you is sitting on the kitchen counter, causing him to nearly trip over his own feet. Did you forget to get rid of it before the procedure?

“Let me go change first,” you tell him. “Feel free to grab any snack. There’s cold water and beer in the fridge.”

He can barely answer as you disappear into your room. Memories start flooding his mind, it feels as if he finally finds all the folders with your name on them that he tried so hard to bury, stashed in the deepest part of his heart.

Those memories were so painfully beautiful he has to bite his lip to prevent his tears from falling.

“Oh that’s my favorite mug!”

You’re back, dressed in the black loose T-shirt you always wear during summers. Minho’s eyes automatically dart to your left shoulder, spotting the hole on the shirt that exposes a part of your shoulder.

Another thing that hasn’t changed. Another thing that makes you the you he knew. Another thing that diminishes his self-control into nothing because you have no idea how much he loved to—

“Minho?”

You cradle this face softly, wiping the tears he didn’t know he shed. Confusion and panic reflected in your irises. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh?” He touches his cheek before attempting to laugh. “Something probably went into my eyes...”

“Let me see.” Before he refuses, you’ve taken a step closer, gently blowing into his eyes. “Better? Want some eye drop?”

Minho shakes his head, removing your hands from his face and plants a kiss on your forehead. Another mistake that feels so right. “I guess I’m just tired. Is it okay if we chat some other time?”

You mumble an okay, following him to the front door. When he turns the door knob, you reach for his hand. “Hey,” you murmur, slowly examining his face. Minho tries to read yours in return, sensing your hesitation. He waits for a good minute patiently, letting you form words in your head.

“What are we? These things we’ve been doing… what do they mean to you? Does this mean we’re…”

You let out a frustrated sigh, more directed to yourself than him, and Minho understands what you’re talking about. He tightens his grip on the knob, desperately begging himself to stop all of this. You don’t deserve another heartbreak when you’ve done everything to continue living.

You’re a whole new person, yet you remain the one he adored. How can you be so different yet familiar? How can you be so… dearly you?

“Minho, does this mean that we’re—”

Minho throws his arms around you, burying his head into the crook your neck before slowly trailing his lips towards the exposed part of your shoulder. You have no idea how much he loves leaving kisses there, on that particular spot. As strange as it sounds, it gives him the strength and hope he needs. Minho never told you this; you’ll never be able to imagine how happy and relieved he currently feels when he plants one, two, three, countless kisses that set his whole being on fire.

“We are,” he whispers, dropping one last kiss before pulling you even closer, enveloping your body in his embrace.

There’s only one thing in Minho’s head now: love. He can only think about loving you better than before, and in this moment nothing can stop him from doing so because whether he likes the old you or the new you doesn’t matter anymore.

Minho just loves you, and he doesn’t want to think about anything else. Not even his selfishness. And especially not your future heartbreak.

“You’re so precious, Y/N. You’re so precious to me.”

Hyunjin is the only one at the office when you arrive. He’s busy with his camera, changing its setting every now and then before capturing random things on his desk. You and Chan were on the fence about hiring him at first since you’re just a small company and he’s a student with high expectations. However, Hyunjin turns out to be the one of the most eager apprentices ever, and you’re going to bawl your eyes out when his internship ends next month.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, only earning a distracted “Huh?” as an answer.

“Hyunjin, don’t forget to go over the photoshoot details with me before we leave later, okay?”

He lifts his head a little this time. “Okay. Let me just finish trying out this new technique Seungmin taught me.”

You chuckle, snapping a photo of your intern yelling at his camera when he messes up. Sending it to Chan, you write, “We should give him a raise.”

Your phone rings a few seconds later, frowning when Chan’s urgent voice greets you. “I’m inside my car. Can we talk?”

“Whoa, relax. What happened?”

“Y/N, please. Just come out for a sec.”

No one wants to start a fight with Chan when he’s talking in that tone, so you inform Hyunjin you’re stepping out for a bit. Chan’s sedan is parked right in front of the building, his conflicted face prompts you to enter the car right away.

“You told me there’s something weird about Minho but now you’re dating him? And you’re hiding it from me?” he deadpans without waiting for you to close the door.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” you murmur. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

Chan sighs in exasperation. “Why do you think you owe me an explanation? I’m your best friend, not your mother. How is Minho different from any other guy you’ve dated that you really tried to keep it a secret from me?”

You gulp. “Things between Minho and I… it’s different. I thought I knew what liking someone felt like, but after meeting him I realized I knew nothing about it. Everything feels so overwhelmingly wonderful and insanely intense I think I may fall apart if I start talking about it.”

Your best friend gives you a knowing look, but says nothing as he stares at a random stranger walking down the street. “And I know you’re not really fond of him so I was trying to look for the perfect timing to tell you. Sorry.”

“I just want to keep you safe. This guy knows small details about you that even I didn’t know. Are you sure you never met him before?”

He pauses, taking a deep breath before adding, “Did you do that erasure procedure?”

“How am I supposed to know?” you snap. “Isn’t forgetting about the whole thing the point of the procedure?”

“You love him, don’t you?” Chan’s voice is soft this time, but his words hit you right in the gut you have to stop yourself from flinching. Hearing someone say that they love you is scary, admitting that you are in love is a hundred times scarier.

Taking your silence as a yes, Chan turns on the engine. “Look, the last thing I want is seeing you sad. It breaks me, more than you know. So please consider trying to find out the truth. How are you going to love him if you don’t trust him? How is he going to love you if he keeps you in the dark?”

You lean your head against the window, watching your best friend dialing Hyunjin’s number to tell him that both of you will be back after lunch.

“We better be quick,” Chan says. “Hyunjin’s terrified he will have to answer Mr. Song’s call again.”

“We should definitely give him a raise.”

“Oh we will,” he snickers. “If he survives Mr. Song’s call.”

“You’re cruel.”

For the first time in your life, you feel like a ruling queen inside your island instead of a trapped princess. You know every nook, every secret passage, every hidden treasure that nobody else has ever explored. Everything feels real for once, you’re in control and you want to stay here forever.

Eat Here has gained more regular customers since you and Chan started handling its social media accounts, and the face-splitting grin on Minho’s face whenever a new customer pushes the door open makes you feel proud and giddy at the same time.

You weren’t able to witness your Hottest Man Alive greeting his customers happily today, but you promised to pay him a visit at the café. It’s a few minutes past 10, meaning the café has closed for the day, so you were prepared to see everyone cleaning up. To you surprise, there’s nobody inside when you arrive.

“Minho?”

Your boyfriend waves from inside the pantry. “Coming!”

Moments later, he comes out with a tray of food. Gesturing at you to take a seat, he places a bowl of potato salad, a pot of kimchi jjigae and some side dishes. “Wait, let me get some more.”

You recall your phone conversation 2 hours ago, vaguely remembering telling Minho that you haven’t had dinner. When he serves the last batch of side dishes and a bottle of sikhye, you tease him for being so sweet.

“I’m not being sweet though?” He pulls out a chair for himself, watching you eat with content eyes. “You said you were starving, so I prepared you some food.”

You shrug, letting him pour sikhye into your glass. “I just never expected that you’re someone who…”

“… cooks?” he finishes for you. “I just did the bare minimum. Do you really want to see me being sweet?”

“Is that a challenge?”

Minho clears his throat, the way he stares at you makes you fidget in your seat. Only God knows what’s inside this man’s mind. One second he’s nonchalant and cool, then he’s Mr. Flirty and makes you all swoony.

Patting his thigh, he smiles at you. “Come here baby.”

You shake your head in fear of completely losing your sanity. “No. What are you trying to do?”

“Being the most romantic boyfriend ever. Come on.”

Minho tries his best to suppress his laugh as you finally settle yourself on his lap, not sure whether you should rest your head on his shoulder or peck his lips or marvel at how firm his thighs are... damn it Y/N, what are you? 17?

Although you’re just sitting there like a log, Minho looks unbothered and reaches for the chocolate cake. He slices it into smaller bites, taking a piece of it with the fork before telling you to open your mouth. “If you still want ice cream then we can get some on the way home.”

“I’ve had enough ice cream for today. I went to this cute ice cream parlor with Chan.”

You take the plate from him, stuffing yourself with the rest of the cake. Minho’s soft pats on your shoulder and the sweet taste of chocolate seem to flush all the initial awkwardness from your system.

Another hour passes with you curling up on Minho’s lap, the latter listening to your little speech about how grateful you are for vending machines as if you’re talking about world peace. Your back hurts and his thighs ache but the way your head nestles in the crook of his neck and the way he pecks your cheek every few minutes are enough of a spell to trap both of you in this exact moment, where lies, doubts and regrets cease to exist.

You wake up with a jolt, reaching for your water bottle on the bedside table. It’s surreal for a dream to feel that real—it almost felt like a memory, something distant but present nonetheless. You’re sure that was the younger Minho you saw in the dream instead of the one you know, and before you come to a realization that it’s currently 2AM, you’re already dialing his number.

He picks up on the fifth ring. “Hmmm my moonlight, missed me?”

His sleepy voice causes you to blush, definitely not seeing that coming. “Nothing.” You wince at your parched voice. “I just had a dream.”

Minho lets out a low laugh, you can hear him sitting up on his bed. “About me?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

You sink into your bed, heaving a sigh you forget to hide. “It’s complicated.”

“Was it a bad dream?” Minho’s voice is firm but oh so calming that you start recounting every detail you can remember. He listens to you attentively, humming once in a while, and your muscles are all relaxed now. Minho is here, listening to your bullshit in the wee hours of the morning. Minho is here, calling you his moonlight with the most caring tone ever.

“I miss you,” he declares the moment you finish talking. “Can I come over?”

“All of sudden? Minho, it’s 2AM.” You glance at the clock. “Wait, it’s 2:18 now.”

“Then I’ll be there at 3AM.”

“But—”

He hangs up, and you just sit there until Minho enters your room at 3AM sharp, taking in your dumfounded state before plopping himself onto the bed and pulling you close. “I’m here,” he sweetly says and you can only nod, eyes boring into his as he runs his thumbs along your cheekbones. “I like you, exactly the way you like me. I like you more.”

You shake your head, burying your head in the crook of his neck to hide your red cheeks. “It was just a dream,” he adds, enunciating each word like a mantra. Closing your eyes, you repeat his words again and again inside your head, traces of pain from the dream still crawling up your skin as Minho’s sweet praises lull you to sleep.

“I’m sorry but that’s classified information. We cannot mention anything about our patients.”

“But she did the procedure because of me! I’m the one she erased!”

“That only gives us more reasons to forbid you from obtaining any information. It’s our policy to protect our patients, especially after the procedure is done.”

Minho wonders how this sullen kid managed to land the job, but bites his tongue before he really gets kicked out. He takes one deep breath before pleading at so-called receptionist (his name is Kim Seungmin but he could care less) once again. “May I at least know whether she was in so much pain?”

Seungmin fixes his glasses. “People her age mostly spend their money on traveling or whatever cool things they want to do, but she chose to have her memories manipulated so she wouldn’t have to remember you. I think that’s enough of an explanation.”

It’s no big deal, Minho tells himself. It’s normal for people to have the Erasure procedure thesedays. In fact, it’s become so normal that no one bothers to talk about it anymore. Erasure is simply another way to move on, just like Love Alarm is another way to detect love. If you decided that your memories together weren’t precious enough to keep in your heart, so be it. If he hurt you that much but you chose to erase him instead of confronting him, then it’s your loss.

Exactly. Was he that bad? Did he hurt you that much?

“Excuse me, Sir?” Seungmin is already standing by the door. “I think it’s better for you to leave.”

“Alright.” Minho lifts his hands in defeat, starting to feel bad for the poor boy who’s just trying to keep his job. “Hang in there, kid.”

“Congratulations, you just earned a VIP pass to Hell.”

Eat Here is doing well, the kids he’s supporting are starting school soon and he finally gets to return the feelings of the girl he loves the most but yes, Seungmin is right. The gates of Hell are open for Minho.

“Right,” he scoffs. “As if you didn’t greet people with a smile and convinced them that erasure was the best solution for all their problems.”

Seungmin grits his teeth; talks about Dr. Seo Changbin’s Erasure Centre are never easy for both of them. For Seungmin, it reminds him of all the pain, rage and guilt he thought he was used to seeing. For Minho, it reminds him of his selfishness and failure to make you happy.

“The erasure did help a lot of people though,” the puppy-eyed boy trails off. “It’s been years yet I’m still torn between wanting the procedure to perish and thanking it for saving lives.”

“Maybe it does save people. But then there’s Y/N.”

“And you,” Seungmin adds.

Minho chuckles. “And you.”

“Are you just gonna wait until she realizes that those dreams actually happened?”

A long silence looms over them until Seungmin slides a clear CD case along the counter. “I guess it’s time to reveal how I risked my life for you the day I quit my job there.”

A label with your name is plastered on it along with the logo of the centre. It’s the answer to all his questions when he first met Seungmin. The sole proof that everything between the two of you happened.

“I can get sued anytime,” the part-timer warns jokingly. “So use it well, and don’t cry. She said some hurtful things, but you deserved it anyways.”

“Do you think it could last another hour?”

Hyunjin snaps one last photo and tells the models to get a 5-minute break. “Do you want an honest answer or an intern-can-make-anything-happen answer?” he whispers at you while checking his shots.

You’re currently at a photoshoot in Gyeongju with a client you desperately need to impress, but your clumsiness just had to choose today to get in action. Chan was almost furious when you told him you left all the cameras’ charging cables at Minho’s apartment.

“So we’re fucked up,” you conclude. “How many outfits are left?”

“Including this one… three.”

“We’re so fucked up,” you correct yourself, approaching Chan to relay the expected bad news when a familiar car arrives at the villa. You barely hear Hyunjin muttering, “God is a male… for today…” before rushing to take the black duffel bag from Minho’s hand. He only smiles when you tell him he’s getting all the hugs and kisses later.

The photoshoot continues smoothly; allowing you, Chan and Hyunjin actually breathe after 5 hours trying to make the cameras’ batteries last as long as possible.

“I’m so sorry Chan,” you sigh.

He lets out a weak chuckle. “It’s fine. The problem’s solved anyways.”

“No thanks to me.”

“Thanks to you.” Chan glances at your boyfriend who’s leaning on his car, watching you from afar. “Minho brought the chargers, but you were the one who made him drive all the way here. You need to stop underestimating his feelings for you.”

You let Chan’s words sink in, eyes meeting Minho’s in the process. For a split second you forget about everything’s that’s been bugging you, wanting nothing but to lose yourself in his affection for you.

“Do you trust Minho now?”

Chan puts his hand inside his pocket, exhaling softly. “I know he’s crazy for you Y/N, I’m not dense. But does that mean he’s being honest with you?”

Hyunjin snaps one last photo that marks the end of the shoot, giving you a reason not to respond to Chan, jogging towards the models instead. “Thank you, everyone!” You bow to them. “There are some snacks left inside so please eat before you go, or you may take them home.”

You can still feel Minho’s eyes on you, following you wherever you run with the sweetest kind of fondness that makes it hard for you to question him. He’s like a prince who comes from another kingdom after crossing the long bridge and fighting in the wild forest. He stands there in front of your castle, waiting for you to deem him worthy of your love, of you.

How do you say no to that?

But how do you know if he sees you the way you feel he does?

After that night, you’ve had other dreams—the ones you never told him—each dream etched itself into your mind, filling in the empty spaces slowly but surely. They become a part of you so naturally that you’re convinced you somehow lived them.

“What are you thinking about?”

Minho has just finished loading the last box of props into Chan’s car trunk, now waiting for you to break your train of thoughts with an amused smile. You barely hear Chan and Hyunjin saying goodbye before they enter the car, leaving the two of you alone.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Minho’s smile is long gone, his expression mirroring yours: confused, lost, a bit scared. “Are you okay?”

Even your 18 year-old self knew what to do then. A bit late, but she did it. The thought of embracing her as a part of you is making you nauseous, the acknowledgement of having a past you don’t remember is disturbingly scary.

“Those dreams... they were real, right? Those are my memories.”

Your stomach churns when Minho nods, surprisingly calmer than you expected. He pulls out a CD out of his bag, carefully slipping it into your hand. The thin plastic feels heavy in your hold, the world as you know it crumbling at the realization that this Lee Minho was the same boy who had your heart in his palm and broke it.

“I tried to picture this situation in my head every single day, but never had the courage to actually tell you. I’m so sorry Y/N. For everything, then and now.”

Lee Minho, the one who sees you as his moonlight, was also the one whose heart could never be yours.

“I’m Lee Minho. We’re both from Gimpo, and we met at high school. We were best friends, then sometime during 11th grade we started dating. You were this amazing, lovely girl who wore your heart on your sleeves, and I was the asshole who failed to realize how blessed I was to have you.”

Minho pauses to look into your eyes, the sorrow in his orbs triggers the tears you refuse to shed. “I became your boyfriend because I didn’t want to lose you,” he continues. “I was stupid, wasn’t I? Stupid and inconsiderate. All I had to do was tell you how I felt…”

"B-but why?” you sob. “Y-you l-lied to me, Minho. Again.”

“I did. Fuck. I did,” he admits. “You have every right to never ever forgive me. But Y/N, I never meant to play with your feelings. I was too late, but I loved you then. I love you now, and I don’t think I’ll be able to love anyone else even if I try.”

Phase 2: Forgotten Days

“A mug?”

Minho hums as an answer while copying your English homework in a speed of light, failing to answer your questions about why, out of all things he could buy in Japan, he decided to gift you a mug. You let out a huff when he leaves your next question hang in the air (“How did you know that I needed a new mug?”), but lets him be since the bell will ring in 15 minutes.

The purple mug is quite heavy and somehow that makes your heart flutter. Minho gave all the other classmates green tea Kit Kats and keychains, but he was willing to fit the bulky mug into his tiny suitcase for you.

You don’t know what’s going on inside his head most of the time, for all you know he could’ve bought the mug because he forgot to buy something for you and decided to grab the first thing in sight. It’s just a little gift, something you should just appreciate without thinking too much about it, but you can’t help but wonder. Sometimes you feel sorry for yourself for overanalyzing Minho’s every little gesture, trying to guess how much he likes you.

“I’m done!” Minho exclaims, returning your book before grabbing his wallet. He finally looks into your eyes, smiling at you as he ruffles your hair. “Gotta grab some snacks. You want anything? Strawberry milk? Chips?”

When he comes back with both although you told him you only wanted chips, Minho argues that he knows you’ll get hungry in the middle of lessons. Again, it shouldn’t feel so special, but he’s looking at you now, you and no one else. Lee Minho is like an enigma, but at times like this, you bask in his bright smile and everything is forgotten.

Summer is the enemy you’ve managed to beat every single year, but combine the scorching heat with excruciating cramps and you don’t stand a chance. You peek into the practice room once again, but Minho is still practicing his dance routines, his phone laid neglected at the corner of the room. The supposed-to-be 30 minutes practice turns into an hour, and you decide to just wait outside since you don’t have energy to go home on your own.

The door opens when you’re on the verge of passing out, luckily someone has caught you before you collapse on the floor. “Y/N,” Minho’s voice forces you to open your eyes. “What happened?”

“… cramps…”

He lifts you and dashes to the infirmary without saying anything else, yelling at some other students to “fucking move!” while trying not to trip over his undone shoelaces. You try to tell him that you’re alright, just a little tired from enduring the pain but he gives you no chance to talk.

Minho finally stays still after kicking the infirmary’s door to no avail. He makes no other attempt to open the door, slowly making eye contact with your drowsy eyes. You love seeing fire in Minho’s eyes, especially when he dances or plays with his friends. This is the first time Minho sees you with such intensity, but this is not the passionate flame you’ve been craving to see. This fire is destructive, painful. It breaks your heart that he’s looking at you like this, like you’re the source of all unfortunate events that happens in his life.

You feel like you’re the unfortunate event in his life, and the thought is enough to make you break free from his bruising grip, pushing the door open yourself.

“Go back to practice,” you tell him, sitting on one of the beds. “I’ll lie down for a bit then go home.”

Minho rummages through the medicine cupboard, taking a painkiller pill and fills an empty glass with warm water. “Drink this, I’ll take you home.”

“I’m fine, Minho…”

He shakes his head. “You’re sick and I’m taking you home.”

Too weak to argue, you swallow the pill and let him walk you home. Minho keeps his hand around your shoulder the whole time, not even bothering to check his ringing phone. He doesn’t talk to you either, and at this rate the silence is more concerning than your cramps.

“Can you go up on your own?” he murmurs when you reach your apartment building. “I have to go back to school, but I’ll stop by later.”

You only nod, about to wave him goodbye when he reaches for your arm. “Wait.”

Minho cups your face, pressing his lips on yours and stealing your breath away. Soon, he starts kissing you harder, but his lips still feel cold against yours and he still feels so faraway even when he’s gripping your waist like his life depends on it.

“Minho,” you manage to rasp, cradling his face to stop him from planting another kiss on your lips. He opens his eyes, staring at you with those beautiful eyes that, sadly, never really shine for you. “Your friends are waiting.”

Still panting, Minho gives you a nod before pulling away. The fire you saw in his eyes earlier has died out.

As you watch him walk away, you finally realize that you’ve been asking yourself the wrong question. It’s not about how much Minho likes you, it’s about whether he likes you at all.

If Minho could choose only one person to be with for the rest of his life, he would choose you. He enjoyed watching movies with you, he loved sending his silly selfies to you, he always wanted to end a tiring day by talking to you all night long.

He can still do that, you’re still his friend. The only difference is that he can hug and kiss you and tell other people that he’s yours. Minho doesn’t know why he lets the words “boyfriend and girlfriend” change the dynamics between the two of you, but it’s too late to undo everything.

“Can we just be friends again?” he repeats the question in his head over and over, yet he can never voice it out. The look in your eyes will be too devastating for him to bear, and he will you lose you forever.

“I’m outside,” he tells you over the phone, trying not to flinch at your excited “Oh!”

A few minutes later, you step out of the elevator, walking towards him with big steps.

“Feeling better?” he asks, noting the way your eyes light up at the question.

“Hmm. I took a short nap and it’s gone.”

Minho sighs. “Don’t wait for me next time. If I take too long, you can just go home. I’m sorry that I let you wait around like that.”

The last sentence causes you to lower your gaze, seemingly self-conscious with the fact that he forgot you were waiting for him. “Bought you some ice cream,” Minho says, trying to distract you from your thoughts. “Chocolate, vanilla, mint choco, it’s all there.”

“As an apology?” you half-tease, the tinge of sadness in your voice causes Minho’s heart to clench a little.

He quickly pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Yes and no,” he murmurs into your hair. Part of him is relieved when you don’t question his answer, only humming against his chest before wrapping your arms around him. It’s so easy to make you happy and it angers him. You’re too kind. Too patient. Too loyal. You’re too in love with him, and it hurts not being able to feel the same.

But as the warmth of your body starts to comfort his senses, Minho realizes this is where he wants to be. He wants to be with you, no matter what the labels are. “If you miss the last bus you’re gonna have to walk all the way home,” you remind him, voice muffled since neither of you wants to let go.

“One more minute,” he replies, fingers playing with the hole on your shirt. He places one feathery kiss there, a silent promise that he’s going to try his best loving you. The one promise that could have made you stay, but it remained unsaid until the day you left him.

“Surprise!”

Minho lets out a yelp, coughing up confetti that you pop right in front of face. His parents, standing a few steps behind you, are giggling at their son’s reaction. “I thought you had to go somewhere with your mom!” he exclaims, the surprise in his eyes is now replaced by confusion and… annoyance?

You quietly step aside, letting him shake off the confetti as you’re trying to find your voice. Minho’s parents don’t seem to notice the tension, laughing and explaining that they invited you over for the family birthday dinner.

His mother ushers both of you to the dining room where the feast awaits. “After all this time you still haven’t introduced Y/N to Soonie!” she protests jokingly while the said cat is purring at you. Coming over to Minho’s house without his knowledge sounded like a terrible idea right from the start, but now you really wish you had turned the offer down. The birthday boy only pats you on the back before telling you to sit down, and you spend the rest of the dinner conversing without ever looking at each other in the eyes. That’s no surprise, what surprises you is the fact that you don’t even bother trying to get him look at you.

After 2 years, you’re finally tired of waiting for Minho to love you.

“Soonie doesn’t usually like strangers,” Minho says as you’re walking to the bus stop. “But he really likes you.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Like me. Do you like me?”

Minho chuckles. “What kind of question is that?”

Words are bubbling inside your head, all emotions threatening to spill out you have to literally swallow them down. It feels like the world has come to a stop—the realization that your world has been revolving around Minho all this time makes you feel queasy.

“Y/N?”

You want to explode. You wish you can explode. There’s nothing you want more than taking out every piece of your broken heart, count all of them and show him how much you’ve been hurting. You thought your love was enough for both of you, but the bigger your love grew, the farther the distance between the two of you became.

Minho keeps his gaze on you as you’re mustering up courage to ask the most heartbreaking question. “Why?” you quiver. “Why do you pretend that you like me? Why do you bother doing that for 2 years?”

“I-I like you. So much,” he stutters. “Just not in the same way you like me…”

Blinking your tears away, you return his tormented gaze. “Then why did you let me like you alone? Every fucking day you let me wonder how much you like me, if I mean anything to you… I wait for you, convincing myself that you must’ve liked me if you chose to be my boyfriend. But it’s just a game to you, isn’t it?”

Lee Minho has always had his own way to love. You’ve seen him showering those around him with love in ways that seem so ordinary that people often take it for granted. But you see and feel everything, including hints that your feelings have always been one sided. You bury all those hints, telling yourself that he only needs time.

That time never comes, and you have run out of lies and excuses and hope to cover up for both of you.

Phase 3: Chasing Moonlight

The Queen lived under a spell all this time, believing that the foreign kingdom was her whole world while she didn’t even have a home to begin with.

But the ruins of her castle—the only thing that’s left of the kingdom she tried to understand her whole life—will become one. She’s going to build herself a new kingdom, one that she knows by heart, and call it home.

“Noona!!! I’m going home!!! Don’t stay there too long!!! You’ll get sick!!!”

You tear your gaze from the cloudy sky as Hyunjin shouts at you from the ground. You dismiss him with a little wave, forcing a small smile so that the boy will leave instead of going back to the rooftop.

“He’s right,” Chan adds. “You’ve been here for hours.”

After showing up at work with puffy eyes and hoarse voice, Chan attempted to send you home, but you insisted to complete some of your tasks before breaking down during lunch after Hyunjin accidentally revealed that he would meet Seungmin at Eat Here.

So here you are, finally sated after crying all the tears you had left at the rooftop during the remaining working hours.

“I’m fine,” you croak, cringing at your own voice. “You can leave.”

“And let you stay here until you’re all stiff and frozen?”

“Just let me be pathetic for one more day.”

He furrows his brows. “You’re not being pathetic. After what he’s done to you, weeping is the least you should do.”

You let out your first laugh of the day. “I surely wept.”

Looking incredibly relieved that you haven’t lost the ability to feel other emotions than sadness, Chan continues, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Do you know what hurts the most?”

He takes the longest time to think, but shakes his head at the end.

“The fact that I’ll probably never see him again.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing, but go on.”

“Should I give him one last chance? Or should I just hate him until I die? What’s the right thing to do? What should I do to heal? What should he do to heal? All these questions are driving me insane.”

Those questions are the easiest to answer, so you expect Chan to sigh and tell you to snap out of it, but he just smiles at you. “What do you want to do?”

“Huh?”

“Have you tried answering your own questions? What you want to do is what you’re supposed to do. It’s easy, my dear friend.”

“I want to…”

Your mind wanders to last night, recalling that agony on Minho’s face that mirrors your own. A small part of you wants him to suffer for the rest of his life, consumed by guilt and the sheer horror of being erased from someone else’s memories.

“I want to curse him out.”

Chan playfully smacks your head. “You didn’t do that?”

“My mind went blank, then I started crying. That wasn’t cool at all, I know,” you huff. “I should’ve told him to go to hell or something.”

“After that? What do you want to do?”

You bury your face into your palms, ignoring the teasing tone in Chan’s questions. “The last time we talked, you were Lee Minho’s #1 hater. What happened?”

“I just wanted him to be honest with you. I never hated him,” he tells you softly. “Do you?”

You may never get all of your memories back, but the ones you can remember are enough to know that being with Minho used to be a silent torture. He was a thorny rose, beautiful yet unattainable. You wanted him so much you refused to look down and see your bloody fingers. The thorns were stuck there for the longest time, eventually infecting your soul until you were too weak to heal yourself.

But he’s not that boy anymore. He’s just Minho who listens to all of your rambles and actually keeps all those details in his mind. He gives you the warmest hugs and the most sincere kisses. He stays by your side, and you will always want him to stay.

When you finally lift your head to answer Chan, he gives you his reassuring smile that never fails to make you feel better. It’s the first time he’s talking about Minho without a frown, and you hope it’s a good sign. “Like I said,” he sing-songs. “Do what you want to do.”

The sound of footsteps approaching prompts you to curl yourself into a ball, trying to make yourself as invisible as possible under the dining the table. Jeongin manages to push the heavy door open after a few tries, mumbling that you’re not going to take the “king of hide and seek” title from him. You can’t help but giggle at his determination, waiting for him to find you while he’s scanning the whole room.

“Minho hyung!”

You stay still, not wanting to fall into the 5 year-old’s tricks so easily… until you hear Minho’s voice calling the little boy’s name. “What are you guys playing? Where’s Y/N?”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” Jeongin answers, his eyes still as sharp as a hawk. “I’ve found everyone, only Y/N noona is left!”

Minho hums. “Want me to help you find her?”

You don’t hear Jeongin responding, but the next thing you see is a pair of pretty eyes staring into yours. “Found her,” Minho murmurs.

Jeongin pulls you out with a huge grin on his face. “I knew you were there! Thanks for helping me, hyung.”

Minho ruffles the boy’s head before gazing back at you. “If you’re thankful, can I borrow her for a second? We just need to talk, then she’s all yours.”

You can’t find the strength to say no, hoping Jeongin will somehow be clingy this time. “Are you guys fighting?” he asks instead.

“Do you think we’re fighting?”

Jeongin nods, his sparkly eyes turn gloomy. “If I let you talk, will you make up?”

Minho glances at you. “I don’t know… I made a huge mistake.”

“Did you make her cry?”

“Yeah,” Minho confirms, voice thick with remorse and you’re not sure how long you can pretend to be okay in front of Jeongin.“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?”

You crouch down, pinching the boy’s pout with an endearing smile. “I promise nothing bad will happen. Can we go outside now? I’m sure everyone is waiting for you.”

Still a bit sullen, he links his hand with yours and lets you lead him out, Minho trailing behind the two of you. Once you’re back at the garden, Jeongin whispers into your ear, “I’ll always be your friend, noona. I won’t hurt you.”

“Of course you won’t,” you laugh. “I’ll join you soon, okay?”

Minho turns to you as soon as Jeongin goes back to his friends, studying your expressions carefully. You want to tell him so many things, yet the only words you can produce are, “Fuck you, Lee Minho.”

You feel slightly lighter when Minho says nothing to defend himself, sitting on the grass before gesturing at you to do the same. It fuels your need to let out the pain you previously sealed inside your heart, ironically basking in his comforting presence as you do so.

“The whole time I felt like something was missing. You knew that, then went on hiding the rest of the puzzle pieces and left me there, incomplete. Just like that.”

This isn’t your first time baring your heart to Minho, the last time you did it you were left with such immeasurable pain that erasing a part of your brain—your soul—sounded like a better choice. You wait for the sadness and rage to take over your mind, but the storm never comes. You wonder what makes it different until Minho shifts to look at you in the eye.

Minho is looking at you with those pretty eyes like you’re the only one he can see. It’s not just a sweet dream you tried to dream of every night when you were 17. You’re no longer the only one who’s wearing your heart on your sleeves.

“Am I doing this because I feel guilty or because I genuinely want to be with you?” he begins. “Believe me Y/N, I spent months trying to find the answer and justify what I did, but I guess you can never exactly separate those two feelings.”

His confession is bittersweet; you know it won’t end all your personal battles. You still have to fight them, help yourself to understand why you are thinking and acting the way you are. The gaps have been filled, and now you have to be the one who define yourself.

“I thought I could just treat you better for the rest of our lives. I was sure my love would be enough to heal you. That was very stupid and selfish of me, and I’m sorry. You’re free to hate me, push me away, ruin my life… the decision is yours. But I don’t wanna hide how I feel anymore. Not from you.”

You’re still pondering his words when Jeongin comes to check on you, making sure Minho isn’t making you cry again.

“No, Jeongin, I’m fine. Look? I’m not crying!” you reassure the pouty kid.

He beams at you with his toothy smile. “Really?! Did you make up? Friends have to forgive each other!”

“I know, sweetheart,” you coo. “And yes, we made up. Friends forgive each other.”

Minho shoots you a surprised look, but you ignore him until you convince Jeongin that he can continue playing. “I don’t know whether we can go back to what we were,” you tell him, gazing at the clear sky. “I still need time to process everything, but I was afraid that I wouldn’t ever see you again. So we can be friends, if you want.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling and hopeful. “Hi. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I’m Y/N,” you reply. “Anyways, Lee Minho my new friend, how did you know that I’m here?”

“Your scary friend Bang Chan told me you’d be here.”

“So you think Chan is scary.”

Minho does something that’s between a shrug and a shudder. “He’s always shooting daggers at me how do you not notice?!”

As you and Minho spend the rest of the day laughing and enjoying the sun, you rediscover the magic of following your heart.

It’s heavenly.

To Minho, there are only okay days and good days. Bad days almost never happen, but today is a bad day. Everything started from Eat Here’s fruit supplier sending them the wrong strawberries, then Seungmin called in sick minutes before his shift started, and now he has to deal with a couple whose order hasn’t been processed since 40 minutes ago.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. We’re processing your order now and it will be on us. Jisung, we need another 2 glasses of lemonade—”

“We need our food, not—”

Minho’s lips stretch into a thin smile, the kind of smile he hates because you once said you could sense that he was faking it. His business smile is the only that can save him now, so he ignores the fact that you’re watching the whole chaos and says, “It will be on us. You’re going to need more drinks while waiting.”

After making sure that he’s appeased the angry customers, Minho goes back to the small table at the corner where you’re waiting for him. He can no longer mask his fatigue and annoyance when you lay your eyes on him, all he wants now is to hold you in his arms and sleep everything away. He knows he can’t ask you for more, he’s already getting more than he deserves since you agreed to be friends with him again.

He’s undeniably the luckiest man in the whole galaxy, but it’s human instincts to always want more. There are days when his longing for you is too much to handle, and today is one of those days.

His train of thoughts is interrupted when a cold glass is pressed against his cheek. “Minho?”

“Huh?”

Your eyes crinkle knowingly when he focuses his eyes on you again. “I want to listen to you ranting but I really need to go now. Chan needs me back at the office.”

“Okay,” he answers rather brashly. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Minho almost pouts the way Jeongin does (that pout always gets him) whenever the two of you are going home, luckily he stops himself just in time, opting to wonder what will happen if he tells you that he wants you to stay just a minute longer instead.

You make your way to the door, but not without stopping to give him one last advice, “You better not complain that everything is annoying every 5 seconds if you want that new guy to last more than a day. He’s been looking like a lost quokka!”

Your “warning” came out a bit too loud than you expected. Of course, it reaches Han “that new guy” Jisung’s ears and Minho hopes he remembers to give the poor kid a slice of cheesecake for free after his shift ends. You flash him an apologetic smile, turning to Jisung to convince him that his boss isn’t as bad as he seems before your phone rings.

“He’s harmless, Jisung, just make him iced Americano everyday, praise his cats, and you’re good. Okay, I have to go now or I’ll be jobless in an hour! Byeee!”

Minho’s mouth has curled into a lovesick smile at your antics, waving at you until you close the door of your car. The way you naturally calm him down surprises him everytime, it’s like you’re unaware of how much power you have over him.

God, you really own every inch of his heart, don’t you?

Second chances are overrated.

People change, but once you pay attention to them a just a liiiitle more, you realize that they’re still the same. Lee Minho believes he doesn’t deserve any second chance from you, yet he finds himself seeking forgiveness the moment he looked into your eyes again. As selfish as it sounds, Minho wants your love. Nobody else’s, just yours.

He tried to fill in the empty space you left with other people, but none of them fit. It was always too much or too little, punching him right in his gut for ever thinking that what you two had was too much, that you were too much.

Seeing you fast asleep in his living room with Soonie, Doongie and Dori is another reminder that you were never too much.

You were, and still are, his everything.

Dori opens her eyes before jumping out of your arms, making you stir. Minho quietly strokes your hair to lull you back to sleep, but soon your eyes flutter open as well. “Hmmm look who’s here… the hottest man alive,” you mumble.

Minho points at himself. “Not that I’m surprised, but thank you.”

Your sleepy smile and the breathy chuckle that comes after make his stomach flip. It’s just a simple reaction, something you probably didn’t realize doing, but it feels breathtakingly intimate and loving to Minho. A small part of you that only him can see, something that will cross his mind sometime during work, making him wish time to pass quickly so he can rush back home. To you.

Damn, he promised himself not to let him picture a life with you as the love of his life, but look at his defense crumbling right in front of you because of a mere smile.

You seem to notice his dilemma, lips forming another smile. Opening your arms, you whisper, “Come here.”

The voices in his head are drowned by your request, it’s echoing inside his head like a deathly spell. You have him in your embrace nanoseconds later, curling your hands around his neck as he completely succumbs to his longing.

Minho’s head buzzes with the need to tell you that he loves you, wants you, and misses you to the point that he almost asks you to please please please please forgive him and take him back.

“Okay.”

He lifts his head from the crook of your neck, eyes flickering to yours. You chuckle at his reaction, cupping his cheeks with your warm hands. “Say that again.”

“Say… what again?”

Minho blinks up at you, tiny groans of regret escaping his lips when he realizes that he just spilled everything out loud. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I wasn’t supposed to say that. I know this isn’t about me, but—”

“Did you mean it, though?”

“Of course I did,” Minho says. “But I want to go according to your pace.”

“If I didn’t want the same thing I wouldn’t be here, Minho.” Your voice is as sweet as honey, hypnotizing him into dropping his hopeless pretense. “I’ve built a new home that truly feels like home. It’s probably just a small house, filled with everything that makes me me. But it feels like a beautiful kingdom, and it’s not complete without you in it.”

You don’t have to say it; the way you hold his gaze with such a raw, pure sincerity and the way you asked him to be with you as if he’s the best person in the whole world are enough to let Minho know that he’s all forgiven.

Feeling a tug at his shirt, he meets your expectant eyes once again. “Are you going to continue staring at me like that until we fall asleep?”

The last traces his fear for disappointing you melts away as you start stroking his hair. “I love you,” he rasps, unconsciously leaning in until his lips brush over yours. “My precious moonlight, I’ll do my best so you won’t ever have to erase me again. I love you, Y/N, please don’t leave me.”

You barely manage to nod before Minho finally crashes his lips against yours, not giving you any chance to steal a breath as he lets his feelings overtake himself. He explores every part of your lips like a madman and you accept whatever he gives you, trying to keep up with his feverish kisses and letting him know that he doesn’t need to hold back.

The sudden urge to see you encourages him to pull away. Minho says nothing for a while, only looking into your eyes with silent adoration. Still breathless, you prop yourself up to reward him with a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, the sweet gesture causing Minho to attack you with a series of playful smooches.

“How long do you think this will last?” you ask in between kisses, giggling when Minho switches your positions, you’re now lying on top of him.

“This?”

You pinch his cheek. “I gotta admit it feels kinda nice to hear you saying please so many times.”

Minho arches an eyebrow at your cheeky remark. “Is that so? Wait until you find out how much I like hearing you beg.”

“Minho!” you exclaim, dropping your head on his chest to hide your flushed cheeks. He wraps his arms around you, ready to make you even more flustered before accidentally locking eyes with his cats. You lift your head when you feel his body stills, following his gaze.

“Oh no,” you murmur. “The kids saw that, didn’t they?”

He smiles sheepishly at each of them, somehow feeling like he’s gotten caught by his parents. “This kind of thing happens when you love someone,” he attempts to joke. “So get used to it, okay kiddos?”

You nudge his chest with your chin. “God, you’re shameless.”

“They’re cats!”

“Then why are your ears so red?!”

Minho tuts. “That’s it. We need to do this more often so they’ll get used to it.”

As he silences you with another searing kiss, Minho almost malfunctions at how addicting and comforting it is to have you as his again. It’s impossible to fathom all of his feelings for you into words, yet he still hopes you’ll feel every single one of them.

And you do, because Minho is yours. Entirely yours.

“How did you pass your driving test? Did you bribe them or something?”

Hyunjin doesn’t bother to answer Seungmin’s accusation, eyes glued to the road.

“Watch it,” Minho warns monotonously while you’re gripping his hand, too scared to witness the younger trying to drive. Seungmin shrieks in horror when Hyunjin hits the break almost too late. He glares at the passenger seats where you and Minho are seated. “Hyung can you just take over? Or at least switch seats with me?”

“I can’t.” He points at you. “Y/N is scared as hell and I’m not gonna let you hold her hand.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath when several other cars pass him. “Give me a break! This is my first time driving at the highway,” he argues. “And I was supposed to borrow Chan hyung’s car! Driving your car makes it even ten times scarier!”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my car?!” your boyfriend protests.

The three men continue talking over each other, causing you to roar, “SHUT UP!! Hwang Hyunjin, if you take your hands off the wheels you’re gonna die before you even scratch the car!”

Twenty painful minutes later, Hyunjin succeeds in parallel parking the car with the help of a very frustrated Seungmin. The two boys are heading to the orphanage right away, leaving you and Minho alone for your little date.

Minho opens the trunk, setting it up quickly before pulling you to sit beside him, handing you one of the toasts he packed this morning. “Whoa, the moony park is even more beautiful during the day,” you muse, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “Should we come here more often at this hour?”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re with me.”

Minho snorts at your cheesy answer, but you still sense his wary from the way he keeps glancing at you from time to time. “Is this about the erasure recording you found in my room yesterday? Is that why you took me here?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re still keeping it. I thought we agreed to destroy it,” he says, doing his best to conceal his uneasiness. You initially thought it was a great idea to forget it ever happened, but no, you’re not running away. You want to accept all the consequences of the decisions you have made, especially this one.

“We did, but then I realized I didn’t want to. I don’t want to erase anything anymore, Minho. I want to live life as it is. It’s a memento from the most important period of my life, and while it hurts, it’s a part of me.” You throw your arms around him, squeezing his body until he turns to you and return your hug. “It’s also a reminder that what we have is stronger than anything, don’t you think? I erased you and I still fell in love with you again. Like an idiot.”

Relief washes over you when Minho chuckles, carefree and amused. “You’re not an idiot,” he teases. “You just have an exceptional taste, and I’m way too irresistible. Let’s face it, you were already crazy for me even before I gave you my card.”

“No I wasn’t! I just thought you were attractive!”

“I am the hottest man alive.”

You sigh. “You’ll never let me live it down.”

“No,” he affirms. “Because you’re right. It’s time to stop trying to forget our past. I’ll never forget the fact that you’re calling me the hottest man alive, just like I’ll never forget how much I’ve hurt you. And how much I’ll always try to make it up to you.”

You laugh at his comparison. “I honestly can’t tell whether we’re having a serious conversation or just trolling each other.”

“It’s my talent, baby. Life is always fun with me.”

Although the park has become more crowded and your boyfriend is never big on PDA, you have no choice but giving him a kiss on his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything for me,” you whisper. “Just love me.”

“Hmm.” His lips stretch into a loving smile, the one smile reserved for your eyes only. “That I do.”

Minho isn’t a prince charming who sweeps you off your feet. He is your wandering prince and you’re his moonlight, illuminating his gloomy world. You show him that he doesn’t have to wander for the rest of his life, that he can call you home and stay.

And Minho will always be with you, showering you with the love you deserve. He’ll be the one who fight the demons for you and with you, he’ll be the one who reminds you over and over again how strong and precious you are whenever you lose faith in yourself. Together, you are moonlit. Together, you are complete.

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cloudy-dayys · 3 years

Note

obsessed w ur clef headcanons. do u have any more u can share? (luv ur art btw <333)

i would kill everyone on this planet for you and then myself tysm 💙💙

more clef headcanons (i will not be referencing 4231 in any of my clef posts just because that is very triggering for me, instead im gonna say he and 166's mom met one day when clef was in his late 20s, shit happened (ya know, they fucked), and boom he had to go and kill her and take 166)

· he was never really a child or teen, he was just a monster that happened to break into the foundation's reality one day (i say this bc i cant really imagine him as a child or teen, he's more monster than human and we may never know if he was a normal human that adopted these powers or came from smth else)

· he is both a reality bender and anchor, more so using his bending powers more

· he has many forms, whether the 'human' one is his true one or not is still a mystery, seeing as those he may not be showing his true capabilities or if he has another twisted form that is a lot more powerful

· he may be a rival of kondraki and they hate each other's guts, but he still respects him a lot. clef even met draven (kondraki's son) and admires how konny is a good dad, so he only gives kondraki a hard time and doesn't actually dislike him (clef 🤝 kondraki: good dads and clef finds it cute)

· more than anything, he wants to take meri out on a dad and daughter day. go to the movies, the mall, buy her anything she likes, etcetc. he thinks she deserves to be spoiled rotten (and she does!!)

· but he really dislikes how his daughter is super christian, so if she ever finds out he may be the devil or even states he could be anything satanic or sinful, it wont be pretty on her side

· his face isnt that comprehendible until u personally get closer to him. if ur a complete stranger to him, its impossible to directly look at his face without some sort of problem. it'll seem like static or as if nothing is there, and itll make u want to look away since its too much for ur brain to handle (can make people have headaches or their eyes sore). if ur a pal or a well known enemy of his, you'll see some features like his sharp and terrifying grin, and sometimes his 3rd eye (which will make anybody be in distress)

· he, surprisingly, has a great voice. what makes up for his lack of face or any horrifying features is his voice. sometimes you'll hear him hum a melody or quietly sing a song in his office, he sings more calming songs than anything energetic. if ur lucky enough he'll hop his ukulele out and start singing a wonderful and peaceful song

· he loves guns, but not in a weird way. back to my first headcanon, once he entered this reality and had a somewhat stable form, the minute he found out theres metal shiny things you can hold that make loud kaboom sounds and have many varieties hes like "holy shit!?!? that is so cool!!!!!!!" and its really his comfort item. he usually goes to any open range and practices bc it is a great distraction and he loves holdin em (like a stim!). he cleans em regularly, like a hobby of some sorts

· he's made his own songs before, but he keeps em in private. he may sing em for his daughter though!

· hes more in touch with anomalous beings then regular humans, cause every anomaly thats been locked up by the foundation can relate on something

· "hm. this small anomalous child has no (good) parental figure in their life? well that is clearly my child now. i am their new dad"

· he is very intelligent, you can never prank, trick, or pull any game on him. he can read gestures and cues very easily, and can pick up any weird vibes or feelins within his area

· hes definitely an anarchist, i dont make the rules

· he sometimes wishes he can live a normal life ina suburb home with an amazing s/o and his beautiful daughter and they live happily ever after. then he proceeds with "well where the hell is the fun in that?"

· he has yet to comprehend human emotions, mental illnesses or neurodivergency, he may be able to trick and mess with someone in their head, but being able to fully comprehend human feelings and such is far out of his abilities. maybe one day though

· mess with his friends or family? hes already at ur house bud. there's no saving ur miserable life now

· the infamous 'dr clef can't be affected by anomalous things or properties' still holds very true. he can be affected by 166's powers tho!

· he speaks 4-ish other languages: old greek/latin, german and french. he can gladly try and take up more languages tho, they amaze him!

i have more but i dont want to make this too long and borin for others lol

#ask #tanner talks #scp #dr clef #alto clef

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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years

Text

Prince of Nothing I

~ Part One of Five ~

Release Date: March 19th, 2020 @ 9 p.m.

Word Count: 6,608

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“YN, please listen to me,” Hyunshik spoke a frown etched into his pale face. From where he was standing YN could see how his leg twitched anxiously. Hyunshik wasn’t the type of individual to be easily stressed, in fact, the man had a perpetual optimism that often irked his sister. Which is why her brother’s sudden switch unnerved YN. “Shik, what’s going on?”

Hyunshik had suggested a holiday for the two of them. Though the way he shaped his words, YN wondered if it was less of a ‘holiday’ and more of an escape. From what exactly she didn’t know. YN shook her head, she didn’t understand where all this was coming from. Things had been going well for the siblings as of late: their house was small but quaint enough for them to live comfortably. While Hyunshik had been employed in Mistress Eun’s manor since he was sixteen, YN had recently been employed in a small shop in the town square. Her employer was a bit strict but well-meaning. Is it Mistress Eun? YN had heard enough around town to know that she wasn’t a kind woman - often barking orders and treating her staff like scum beneath her feet. Hyunshik though simply cleaned, he wasn’t in high enough of a standing to be able to communicate much less see her.

YN stopped organizing the different fabrics on the shelf and walked towards her brother. “Talk to me. Did something happen?” In her eyes, there were unspoken words - one that Hyunshik could easily understand. Did she do something to you? Though Hyunshik was always happy, he wasn’t naive about the cruelty of the world. Something his sister had yet to experience fully, so for her sake he smiled. “Nah, work has just been piling up recently and I thought the two of us could use a break you know. Maybe go to the seaside and enjoy the ocean for a bit.” YN smiled though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I just started working silly. Maybe we can go for the solstice? That way we can actually enjoy the sea. It’s far too cold now.”

Hyunshik gave an exaggerated sigh, “Fine but don’t complain to me later on,” his finger came up and gently massaged the space between YN’s brows. “Stop frowning, it’s unladylike and makes you look like a hag.” YN scoffed, “Rude. Plus, I am hardly a lady.” She returned to the counter and began organizing the small intricacies placed there. Hyunshik rolled his eyes, “Please my sister is the fairest maiden in all the land. I have to fight off suitors every day.” His tone became a strong bravado as he flexed his arms.

“Don’t lie to yourself, if anything I fight off my suitors every day. You couldn’t harm a fly.”

YN and Hyunshik had moved to their current home when the latter was sixteen years old. Their parents had just passed shortly before and they couldn’t afford to live in the city anymore, despite them living in the slums; which only grew worse over time. Slavers often went around picking up orphaned children to either sell or trade, so Hyunshik sought to get both of them as far away as he could. In desperate times came desperate measures, but Hyunshik had always stayed on the right side of things. Even when doing the wrong thing would have provided an easy out to all their hardships, he wasn’t that type of man. YN knew this deep down in her bones. So, when she saw a detained poster pierced to her front door with Hyunshik’s name under it she knew it had been a mistake.

Soojin knew this was a part of her role, didn’t mean she hated it any less. Soojin had woken up that morning to the advisor telling her that the King had relayed his duties of standing council to Jungkook, and Jungkook to her. She didn’t have to do it - not really but it wouldn’t bode well. Even if these were technically not her people, they would be someday and it would be better to win their favor than their apathy. Soojin was meant to be the velvet to the Jeon's leather and she would play her role well. So she had sat in that wretched chair that seemed to wrap around her, tightening every second she sat upon it. It wasn’t too difficult, most of the cases were simple cases. As she was not a princess by blood, she couldn’t make any impactful decisions but it was a bit fun nonetheless to have people look up at her in the opal throne, fear in their eyes. It sent a tingle down her spine.

Still the sensation would fade quickly as the black mamba kept coiling around her form; a reminder that it was not her throne - not yet. “Princess Soojin, the next case.” Soojin felt her eyes roll to the back of her head as she looked down upon Joo Eun feeling nothing but disgust crawl up her throat. The lady was Yoongi’s latest fling, but she felt the need to parade that around the entire court. Though one could tell just by looking at her attire that modesty and sensibility wasn’t something she knew. “What seems to be the problem?” Before Eun could speak a younger girl stepped forward, her attire worn but pleasant. Her eyes were red and brimming with unspilt tears, but somehow the girl’s head remained held high.

“Good Morning your highness, I am here on behalf of my brother to ask that he is released as I believe there may have been a mistake.” The commoner kept her head low as she spoke, body angled in a bow. It wasn’t until she finished speaking that she looked up and Soojin’s eyes met hers. When she gazed into her eyes a weird sense of Jamais Vu consumed Soojin. What? “Why that’s just ridiculous. Why would I lie?” Eun’s voice was a high shrill, too high to be genuine. “I know my brother, he would never steal or harm anyone. Even if they tried to harm him.” The girl pleaded. She never once looked at Eun, perhaps knowing that would be a lost cause. No, all her words were directed towards the princess sitting on the throne. “Are you implying something?! Look at these people, we give them everything. Allow them to live under us, yet they bite the hand that feeds them.”

Soojin would’ve normally agreed with Eun’s statement, but her attention was focused on the girl. She knew her from somewhere but it almost felt like what she was seeing wasn’t real. An illusion. A vision. “There are no witnesses. My brother doesn’t even have access upstairs. How would he steal?” It seems that Eun hadn’t thought out her plan to incriminate the boy or she hadn’t expected that he would have someone come to bat for him. Nonetheless, it seemed this case was a simple one. Soojin raised her hand to signal her decision, about to wave in the direction of the village girl until -

“He assaulted me! He asked me to bed him and when I refused he threatened to kill me.” Ah, so that’s what had happened. Poor boy had refused Eun’s advancements and now he was paying the price. “Do you have any proof of this statement Mistress Eun?” She didn’t need proof, Soojin knew that. Just her words were enough to condemn him. No one would ever dare question a noble - their words were gold. Still, Soojin felt pity for the girl. “He took that necklace off of me.” Eun pointed towards the girl’s neck.

“No, this is my mother’s. She left it to me when she passed.”

“Liar. As if a vermin as yourself could afford something like that.”

“Please Mistress Eun. Please, Your Highness.”

Soojin was beginning to get a headache with all the back and forth. She rubbed her temples slowly. Just let Jungkook deal with this when he gets back. For some reason, something twisted in her gut when she had that thought but she ignored it. Soojin leaned back, feeling more claustrophobic by the second. A sigh left her lips, “The prince will deal with this when he returns. Take her to the dungeons.”

YN couldn’t stop the tears flowing from her eyes even if she wanted to. She’d long given up on holding in the sobs that racked through her body as her brother’s fate dawned on her. Hyunshik...we should’ve run away. There was a time for should've. If only she could’ve gone back and recognized the absolute terror in her brother’s eyes. The dread. Please. Please. Please. Please. I’ll do anything. It seems someone had heard her pleas for YN felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, goosebumps rising beneath her clothes. YN turned to look past the iron gate, she saw nothing but pure darkness - but she could feel it. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She was hesitating, afraid of what would occur next. Unsure if she was prepared for it.

“Who are you?” She heard a slight snicker back. YN jumped off the slab of metal she was previously sitting on. Her eyes pierced into the dark abyss trying to find something, but she came out empty-handed.

“Someone.” It was curt, monotone in its nature. Not giving much away except that it was a man.

“Why are you here?” The question was echoed back at her. YN stepped forward heart wavering, but her voice was strong. “You know why.” It seems he didn’t have a remark for that. Something inside YN told her to keep her guard up, she had only ever felt like that when she was younger and living in the slums. Life had been a tightrope walk without a safety net and YN felt transported back to her youth.

“Tell me YN, if you had to choose, would you rather be the fool or the one doing the fooling?”

“Does it matter?” YN didn’t see where he was taking this conversation.

“Better to be the fooler than the one being fooled.” The smugness seeping from his tone was palpable.

“I disagree.”

“Oh?” His voice seemed closer now, though she still couldn’t tell which direction it came from.

YN stepped forward once again, “I’d rather trust blindly, stupidly, and be fooled than be the one doing the fooling.”

“Why?” The voice was even closer now, YN threaded carefully still uneasy about not knowing who this mysterious man was. There was something familiar about his tone, though she couldn’t quite place it.

“Because the world needs more of it...hope I mean.”

“I don’t think that is what it comes down to.” YN could feel his disappointment, but she didn’t care. The man seemed to want to converse in circles and she wasn’t in the mood to entertain whims.

“Doesn’t it? I would rather live a life full of hope that the world out there is good and pure, even if it is a short one. It would be worse to live a long life without hope where I rob others of it.” There was a strong silence that followed. As if the man was mulling over her words, then suddenly there was a shift in the air: it became lighter. Pushing all the warnings aside YN took one last step until she was mere inches from the metallic rods that imprisoned her in the cell.

“I can save your brother.” YN felt disoriented as if the air had been robbed from her lungs before she even knew it. Happiness swelled in her. Hope-filled her, but - “Did you not just confess to fooling others?” YN knew better than to trust the words of a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows. It seemed the man was aware of this for he finally stepped out of the shadows and into the light, his body inches from the door.

Jeon Jungkook, the prince, stood in front of YN with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was a cocky smile, the type that alluded to an inside joke or something ironic. “Did you not just confess to trusting blindly?” YN peered into his eyes trying to decipher what he wanted. Though YN was trustful, she wasn’t a fool to the way things worked. The only time a man in a position of power like Jungkook offered something to someone like her - is because he wanted something in return. The devil is in the details. YN had heard enough stories about the Jeon family growing up to know they gave the devil a run for his money. ”What do you want?”

“Hm,” Jungkook seemed to actually think this over as he glanced away from her and towards the long dark corridor. He’s trying to play it off. “Your highness?” At this, his attention returned to the woman in front of him. “Yes?” Jungkook whispered, his eyebrow quirking.

“What would your highness like in return for helping my brother?” YN had tossed caution out the window, the second she realized it was the prince she was speaking to. Not that royalty could be trusted - no - but he was the only person who could aid her. Besides Princess Soojin, who threw me here in the first place. The princess had appeared to be on YN’s side only for her to throw her in a dark cell the second her patience wore out. If she treated her subjects like nuisances rather than people, it seemed she wasn’t the good well-mannered princess the media portrayed her to be. Just another spoke in the wheel.

Jungkook could see the wheels turning behind her eyes and spoke quickly, “I am lonely and require stimulation...of the intellectual kind, of course.”

This dazed YN for a bit, “You wish to debate?!” At this the prince shook his head, “I wish to converse. It’s not often I get to speak with my subjects, especially not ones as well-versed as yourself.” That was a back-handed compliment if there ever was one.

“Perhaps if you did, your highness, you would find that many of your subjects are as well-versed as I am. Some even more. It’s a survival tactic, not a skill.” Hyunshik had always said that tongue of hers would only get her into trouble. Considering how intrigued Jungkook looked by her response, he was right.

“How so?”

“It's a dog eat dog world out there.” More like a snake eat snake.

“And yet you trust blindly, stupidly even and hope.”

YN had no response for that so she chose to change the subject, “When do you wish for this to happen?” Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer to the iron bars. YN could faintly feel his breath and he hers. “I’ll send a guard to escort you.” YN didn’t respond, something in the back of her mind warned her against this. Told her to turn her back at the extended hand, to bite it, spit at it, and never accept it. However, to do so would mean losing her brother; the only thing she had left in this life. As if sensing her reluctance Jungkook gave that final nudge, the one that would send her tumbling down the rabbit hole.

“What would you do to save your brother?”

“Anything.”

Yoongi had never excelled at pleasantries or small talk, he preferred standing in the corner and merely observing everyone else. His father used to joke that it would’ve been better if he was born in the lower class, that way he could live his life unnoticed and unbothered. Still, there were definite benefits to being in his position and Yoongi had long taken advantage of them. Plus, the food wasn’t too bad. Although having to sit in awkward lunches such as this one often turned any delicacies in his mouth to ash. He picked up on the discussion between his two patrons, but when the subject of Eun came up Yoongi scowled. Yoongi had taken her as a Mistress simply to entertain him. She wasn’t too bad to look at and did decently in bed.

Her blowjobs, though, we're out of this world. Still, she proved too difficult to handle and had been bragging nonstop about being a Duke’s lover. While normally Yoongi wouldn’t care, it would only cause trouble at home and Yoongi already caused enough of it all by himself. Deciding it better not to dwell on those thoughts in public, especially in front of them, Yoongi’s attention returned to the Prince and Princess. Why the hell am I here?!

Yoongi had been resting in his room when he’d been informed that he'd been invited to a private lunch with the Prince. Though gauging from how out of it the young man seemed, especially whenever his lover spoke to him Yoongi was only more confused as to why he was here. Yoongi was in a high standing position, but there were definitely others who outranked him. Other’s that made for much more interesting players in the Jeon’s chess game, but it seemed the younger had a soft spot for him. It wasn’t the first time the prince had shown him a kindness he reserved for those closest to him. Maybe it meant he liked him? Or maybe he sees me as easy prey? Actually the more he focused on the young prince, the more it dawned on him that Jungkook was daydreaming - he was thinking.

“My mother has called and requested I visit her, says it’s an emergency. I’ll be leaving right after lunch and should return the day after tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s entire aura had shifted, a gleeful look now in his eyes. “Is that so?” pondered the young man, with an exaggerated pout on his lips. Yoongi had fallen victim to that trick so often he now recognized it, but it seems the Princess was none the wiser. “Don’t miss me too much,” Soojin replied, a smile on her face. Yoongi was often confused by the dynamic between the two of them. They didn’t act like lovers - no it was as if they were both pretending to be lovers and just happened to be really good at it. Or at least that’s how it should’ve been. For when Soojin stared at Jungkook for too long, her mask began to slip and Yoongi could see traces of affection and admiration in her eyes. Jungkook’s, however, remained forever blank and cold.

Their relationship reminded him of his own. “Tell me Yoongi, how has Jisoo been doing?” Shit, he wasn’t prepared for the cards to turn on him. Now both of them gazed at him with unrecognizable looks in their eyes. The masks are back on. “She’s well. Resting at home and tending to my mother.” Yoongi grumbled, he didn’t like being asked about his wife. It only served as a reminder to him and everyone else how undeserving he was of her. Thankfully the conversation had strayed away from him again onto some random girl. Yoongi let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. I need a break. Well, he had been taking a break he hadn’t seen his wife or lover in weeks, but now he needed a break from his break. Yoongi was getting angsty again and there was only one person who could fix that for him.

“If the two of you would excuse me, I’ll be going now.”

Before Yoongi could even blink, Soojin had left the room; left him alone with Jeon Jungkook. Those sharp snake-like eyes trailed over him like a beast assessing its prey. Any second now Jeon would strike, Yoongi could feel it. “Say Yoongi, your little songbird, does he still sing?” Yoongi was frozen in shock. H-how does he know? Jungkook had his head resting casually on his hand with an almost unamused look on his face, though Yoongi could see the wickedness gleaming in his eyes.

There was no point in denying the accusation, Yoongi knew, but perhaps to agree would cause so much more harm. “Not anymore, your highness.”

At this, the man sighed, “What a shame. I was in need of his services.” Jungkook was baiting him, Yoongi was too much of a coward not to bite.

“Services for what?”

“Nothing too major, just information.”

Information Yoongi could deal with, but there was something about the dark look in the Prince’s eyes that unnerved him. Still, this was a test, Yoongi would lose far too much if he failed it. God bless the poor soul. “Who?”

Yoongi didn’t miss the way a grin spread Jungkook’s lips apart.

It was hours later that a guard did appear, his jaw sharp and nose held up high as if she were scum. YN was used to nobility treating people like her as if they were inferior, but a guard? YN smiled a bit which only seemed to upset the man more, for he practically dragged her out of her cell before threading through the dark corridors of the dungeons. The castle was beautiful - there was no denying that. Exorbitant and excessive in only the way the rich could be, still the palette of the castles were mostly shades of blacks, greys, and muted whites so it didn’t appear as if Midas had gone mad. It was a fairly long walk until they reached what she assumed were the apartments. The room they seemed to be heading for was the one at the end of the hall, whose doors stood taller and prouder than those around it.

YN did note how she hadn’t seen many nobles loitering around and decided it must be offseason. Why else would they let me into a room? The doors slid open before either the guard or YN could even touch them, which confused her. The guard wasted no time in pushing her inside and gesturing towards the bed, “Twenty minutes.” He stated before slamming the doors shut. For her to say the room wasn’t beautiful would be a lie, it was so unlike everything else the palace was: simple and almost vacant. Though what definitely stood out the most were the tall rounded stained glass doors that led out onto a balcony. There was something so beautiful about the way the moonlight streamed into the room, creating a beautiful highlight that contrasted all the darkness in the room. YN found herself walking towards the doors, drawn in by the moonlight.

When was the last time she’d seen the moon? Surely, it couldn’t have been so long ago? Her hands reached out towards the handles, as she pondered if the moon would look that much beautiful up close. It must. All beautiful things look better upon closer inspection. She was so close - STOP! YN jumped back and looked around the room, catching sight of the dress on the bed. It was a black embroidered gown, from just putting it on YN was sure it was worth more than her life. She assumed she should be using this time to make herself look presentable to the prince, but all she really did was try to smooth down her hair and calm her heart. It wasn’t long until there was a harsh knock on the door before the guard from before threw the door open.

YN assumed they were heading down towards one of the dining rooms or maybe a parlor, but instead they continued to climb upwards until they reached the top floor. Where the guard made a sharp left turn they were met with large opal doors with the Jeon’s crest embedded in it. “I thought we were having dinner.” The guard smirked, raising his fists to knock. The doors opened to Jungkook sitting at the head of a table with an elaborate feast in front of him, whilst he sipped on a glass of wine. “Thank you, Jinyoung. You’re excused.” Jinyoung smiled and bowed, before pushing YN into the room.

YN lingered by the door, her focus lay entirely on the man ahead and now that she was in his presence without a barrier to separate them - she realized how threatening he was. Almost as if the cell was keeping him out. The room itself screams Jeon in every sense of the word, it's dark colors accented with green, silvers, and golds. It must’ve been the largest room in the castle save for the king’s - a penthouse in a way. “Come, sit. I don’t bite.” Somehow she doubted that. YN walked towards Jungkook counting the steps as she gazed straight ahead, she wanted to sit away from the prince but he had other plans as the chair to his left was the only one not tucked in. It was once she sat that he finally looked at her, trailed his eyes delicately across her body.

YN shifted uncomfortably aware that the evening dress, though long, still accentuated her figure in a way she wasn’t used to. YN cleared her throat, “I thought we were going to have dinner.” He seemed to understand what she was implying but played coy nonetheless.

“Is this not dinner?” Jungkook gestured to the row of dishes in front of them. Not when it’s served in your bedroom it isn’t.

YN surmises all of this was supposed to impress her, but all it truly did was make her annoyed at the prince. There was a clear disconnect between the palace and the world that existed outside the tall metallic gates. If the prince was willing to spend all this for a simple village girl, what might he do for someone of actual ranking and value? Then again he was a Jeon and their reputation precedes them, the image they conjured up wasn’t of ‘for the people’ but rather ‘for themselves.’

“You don’t seem impressed.” The prince leaned forward, eyes piercing into hers.

“I am…”

“Please, don’t hold back on my account.” Jungkook leaned back, resting on his chair. One of his legs was perched up and his hand resting on it, as the wine inside the glass swirled around. His eyebrow quirked, indicating he was waiting for a response and YN thought it best to simply give him what he wanted. After all, hadn’t he asked her not to hold back?

“It just seems like a gluttonous amount of food for two people.” She remarked looking at it.

Jungkook chuckled, “Gluttonous that’s a big word.” The stare that YN sent him had him laughing. She was taken aback by it, his laugh: the way his crinkled eyes shined and the melodic airiness of it. “Sorry but you are quite amusing. Telling the prince off for ordering too much food.”

YN’s eyes widened and she was quick to apologize, biting the inside at her cheek while she scolded herself for forgetting her place. Jungkook dismisses her apology, waving her off. “It’s refreshing.” For a second, YN felt comfortable around him. Truly comfortable, as if they were young acquaintances - not a prince and his subject. Someone next in line for the throne while YN was fighting to prove her brother’s innocence. Things would’ve been different. Things could have turned out different for the two of them, were they in another world and another time. Or maybe they were always destined to bring nothing but pain and suffering into each other’s lives. It’s easy to wonder and pretend, but fate is cruel and has a twisted sense of humor. Still, YN wondered if in another world Jungkook and her could’ve become friends. Maybe.

“Tell me about yourself.” It wasn’t a suggestion, more of a statement really. YN places the knife down pausing cutting the steak as she looks up to meet Jungkook’s eyes. There was something lurking in them. “Why?” The prince shrugged as if he was simply trying to make small talk. It didn’t go unnoticed by her how throughout the course of their meal he had gotten closer to her: his chair was tilted towards her, his feet were outstretched so they occasionally brushed hers, and he stared at her as if he were trying to pierce into her soul.

“My mother and father died when I was fairly young, so it has been my brother and I for a while. My brother has been working since he was eleven and I’ve managed to get a job recently,” she moved around the food on her plate. “I haven’t had an easy life, but I don’t have room to complain when there are others who have had it far worse.” YN’s early life hadn’t been easy and she still didn’t know how she got out. Still, there was always someone who had it worse and she had her brother, a good home, a sense of security. Jeon Jungkook might seem polite, or at least he’s good at pretending he is, but he would never understand what it’s like. YN doesn’t want to bother educating him, so the sugar-coated version of her life is better.

YN heard a chair screech and suddenly Jungkook was incredibly close to her, sitting at the edge of his seat. “No, I want to know you. All the little things about you.” The change in his attitude almost gave her whiplash, he was whining now. Like a child that didn’t get what he asked for. That sense of unease crept back into her system as she leaned back trying to get as much distance between the prince and her. “I’m sorry, but why?” It wasn’t a ridiculous question to ask, but the way Jungkook was looking at her made her feel like it was. “Why not?” His dark coal eyes boring into hers were almost predatorial.

Goosebumps began to rise throughout her body the longer the silence prevailed. YN didn’t feel safe anymore, Jungkook looked just about ready to strike at her but instead, he simply smiled. “Why were your parents killed?” What? “Why did you run away from the slums? Why did you move into Giihan? Why were you never engaged?” YN’s jaw slackened as she sat there unable to comprehend how he knew all of this. Finally, Jungkook paused, seeming to deliberate on whether or not he should ask his final question. “Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to live with a man with no blood relation to you?”

YN was frozen with fear, she saw at that moment a brief glimpse of Jeon. What he was capable of. “H-how...” How does he know all those things? How does he know Hyungshik and I aren’t related?

“I had to make sure I wasn’t being fooled.”

Rage. That’s what began to rise inside her, though it was mainly at herself still it was a cruel reminder that to him this was all just a game. Something to entertain him because he was bored. YN grips the chair handles to stand up but freezes when she feels something slither across her neck. Her ears picking up on slight hissing. Jungkook grinned, “Ah yes, that’s Morte. Don’t worry he’s harmless just try not to make any sudden movements.” His eyes were alight with humor, finding the entire situation funny.

The snake settled comfortably on YN’s shoulders and the girl willed herself not to cry. It would only further wound her pride and it might startle the snake. Jungkook reaches over to the wine bottle and pours himself another glass, “By the way, I spoke to Eun. She admitted to having a fancy on the boy and getting upset when he rejected her so blatantly. It’s his fault really if he had gone along with it none of this would have happened.” That wasn’t true if Hyunshik had been caught in an affair with Mistress Eun his corpse would be hanging from the gallows.

“Thank you, your highness. May I see my brother now?”

“Oh, he’s still imprisoned and awaiting trial.”

“...what?” YN couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. He had said, he had agreed. A sudden flashback of the first words Jungkook had ever spoken to her, “would you rather be the fool or the one doing the fooling? Better to be the fooler than the one being fooled.” It wasn’t until she felt the tears rolling down her face that YN realized she was crying. The next words were the ones that solidified how naive she’d been. “I only agreed that I could save your brother if you had dinner with me, not that I would.” YN felt her entire world begin to crumble. Here she was playing dress-up, feasting with the prince, trusting him, while her brother was about to be imprisoned for the rest of his mortal life. She should feel upset, disappointed, enraged, but all she felt was a cold apathy overtakes her as it finally dawned on her why she was here.

She was a nobody and yet the prince had visited her, dolled her up, and had her delivered straight to his bedroom. There was only one way to save her brother.

“What would it take for you to save my brother?”

“From imprisonment?”

“Yes.”

“A kiss...just one.”

“Do you swear on your life?”

Jungkook laughed, “I swear on the life of everyone in this kingdom, save for yourself of course.”

It was sudden really how she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, tears still trailing down her face. It was so sudden in fact that it startled the snake, who sank its fangs straight into her neck.

Yoongi had barely the night before images of his loved ones massacred while a snake suffocated him plagued his mind. It had been months since Yoongi had been home, but he had this urgent need to return; to make sure everything was okay. His current definition of okay meant that everyone was alive and not dead by the hand of some psychotic prince who had recently found himself a new toy to play with. It was quite ironic how much Yoongi felt the need to criticize Jungkook, considering he too had fallen victim to the same type of infatuation. He would never dare recognize it as such though, no, what they had was different. No one understood him like he did. No one would ever love him as much as Yoongi did. J-

“Duke Min?” Yoongi spun around and was greeted with the sight of a young girl. There was a sense of urgency, need, in her eyes and Yoongi thought she looked familiar. “Pardon, but I must be getting somewhere.” Yoongi spun back around but was halted when she gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Please sir, it’s regarding Mistress Eun.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and proceeded to walk away, Eun was clearly too much of a hassle and he would get rid of her as soon as he could. “Whatever issues you may have with Mistress Eun have nothing to do with me, take it up with her or the king for all I care,” Yoongi grumbled, speeding up trying to get away from the girl but she chased after him. There was something about her that made him nervous.

The girl took off in a sprint and managed to get ahead enough to block him, “Please. Mistress Eun has accused my brother of stealing and he is to stand trial today,” Yoongi tried to push past her but the girl wouldn’t budge. “The prince has already promised his help but if you could just -” No wonder she looked so familiar. Yoongi’s widened eyes cast downward, truly taking in the girl for the first time. Fuck. It was her. Yoongi felt a deep sense of remorse crawling up his throat, it practically choked him as he saw the desperation in the girl’s eyes. “- just get her to drop the charges then the entire trial could be avoided. Please I’ll do anything.” No, it wasn’t because of her picture that she was familiar to him it was her expression. That was the exact same expression his songbird had when Yoongi had first laid eyes on him.

“How many lives will you ruin all to satisfy your needs?!” As many as it took, Min Yoongi was not a good man. He would never be. He’d been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and the world handed to him on a silver platter like it was his to play with. Yoongi only really took advantage of it when he saw something he wanted and now he’s willing to risk everything to make sure it is forever in his hold. Even the life of the poor girl staring up at him as if he was her last hope.

“I’ll get Mistress Eun to drop the charges. You have my word.” Words are empty. It is actions that truly speak. Yet when Yoongi saw her smile, the way her eyes filled with hope, he realized that he had a lot more in common with Jeon Jungkook than he previously thought.

YN waited among the crowd, her hood up to shield her from the downpour of rain that fell. Person after person had stood trial with whipping, banishment, imprisonment, and other methods of torture being the most common sentence. Death was rarely ruled as most of the cases were light criminal offenses. She thanked the gods, as YN didn’t think she could stomach seeing a man being hanged. Still, she knew some of the people around her begged to differ, they would scream and curse at the men on the wooden stand begging for blood and pain. It was moments like these that reminded her that although the nobility was cruel, sometimes they were no better.

“Kim Hyunshik.”

YN saw as her brother stepped up the stairs and into the stand. His clothes were dirty and full of grime, his lip was cut, and the bottom of his eye had begun to swell. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours, yet he still looked like he’d been through hell and back. Her heart pounded in her chest as she willed herself to calm down. Hyunshik’s eyes darted all over the crowd and YN knew he was looking for her, yet he would have difficulty finding her in this heavy rain. The guard pulled out a paper, beginning to read the offenses and the verdict. YN held her breath.

“Kim Hyunshik stands accused of thievery, disrespecting a commanding officer, and assault.” The crowd began to spew insults at him, some going as far as spitting. “The court finds the defendant...not guilty.” Oh, thank god. YN almost cries of happiness. Hyunshik seems to visibly relax too, thankful that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

“Kim Hyunshik also stands accused of plotting, assaulting a member of the court, and conspiring against the crown.” What? No. The crowd became louder, venom spewing out their mouths towards Hyunshik as YN stood in shock. This can’t be happening. “The court finds the defendant guilty and sentenced him to...death.” No. No. No. No. NO! The crowd goes into a frenzy with jovial shouts as Hyunshik is dragged away to the post by the left of the stage. YN tries to fight against the crowd to make her way to her brother, desperate to reach him. “Hyunshik! Hyunshik!” Her brother looks around panicked, begging for mercy as he is placed on the false bottom and the noose is placed around his neck. It is then that their eyes finally meet, Hyunshik staring straight into YN’s eyes, his mouth moving gently as he stares at her with nothing but affection. ‘I love you.’ He mouths.

The lever is pulled.

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere bts x reader #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #prince of nothing #girlmeetsliv3 #bangtanarmynet #prince of nothing masterpost #pon

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 3 years

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Science & Faith | Carlton Drake x Reader (6/?)

Words: 1575

A/N: Many references to Into the Spiderverse with changes. Reader finally meets the AU!Carlton and the other Spider people. For those who hadn't read my previous series [Apples & Cinnamon], Reader had been in a long-term relationship with Carlton, but they broke up just before the beginning events of the movie and he suffers the same fate.

The Return Part Two

Doctor Cho preferred for you to have more rest at home, but you couldn’t just sit around when there were so many things to be done. When you got your phone back, you had several calls from Annie and a few from Dora. You called Annie back, who was worried when she heard about the black out in New York. You assured her that you were fine and that there were people looking into what happened. The next was Dora, who hadn’t picked up on the first two tries. On the third try, she finally picked up.

“(Y/n), thank god,” she said.

“Hey, sorry about that. I hadn’t been able to use my phone for a while. What’s up?” Never mind that you had fainted in the middle of the street and ended up in medical at Stark Tower. Well, Avengers Tower now.

“A lot and I think at this point, I might have to reach out to Stark about this.”

You frowned, looking through your iPad at the emails you had to go through. “That urgent?’

“It’s about the black out.”

“Oh. Okay, um, I’ll notify Tony as soon as I can. I’m sure he’s looking into it right now, but…”

“As soon as possible, please.”

“Sure, sure.” You slowly sat down and started picking at your sleeves. “Um, I heard you were clearing out the Life Foundation. Any plans to do anything with it afterwards?”

Dora sighed, pacing around in Carlton’s old office. “I don’t know. Only a few trusted people have access to the facility right now to clear it up and to the rest of the people that used to work here, well, I’m technically dead. They don’t know that the Symbiote bonded with me.”

The two of you stayed on the phone in silence until you spoke up again. “I didn’t know he would ever do that-”

“(Y/n), please. I didn’t know, either. He just… he became a different person. And,” she added firmly, “It is not your fault for not knowing sooner. You met him at a different point in his life and then he changed. He’s… he’s gone now and we all just need time to recover from all of that… I’ll talk to you soon, (Y/n).”

You cleared your throat and nodded subconsciously. “Yeah, I’ll get you in contact with Tony as soon as I can.”

There was a weird vibe when you entered The Avengers Tower, like everyone was watching you. Was it because you fainted the other day? You didn’t think it was a big deal, but it felt like everyone was cautious around you.

“(Y/n)!” Abigail said with a strained smile, “I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“Who said that?” you asked, casting a curious glance around the lab. “Did something happen?”

“Well- “

“(Y/n),” a woman’s voice called. You turned and saw Pepper in a white suit standing in the doorway. “Come with me… you might want to brace yourself first.”

You swallowed. What could it possibly be?

You followed Pepper out of the labs towards the communal floor where Tony was. Your shoulders must have been tense as Pepper reached over and gave them a squeeze.

“(Y/n)... we found you back in the parking garage, but you told Doctor Cho that you had driven out to the streets. Do you have any idea of how that could have happened?” Pepper asked gently.

“No,” you said, frowning.

There was a throbbing pain in your temple as you tried to make sense of the recent events. It felt like you were missing a big piece, or if anything, that you were denying that that piece was ever relevant to the puzzle. It was as if that strange puzzle piece had been separated from another puzzle that you were unable to solve, and may never be able to.

Some of the Avengers were on a mission in another country and weren’t due to be back in two weeks. There were voices that you didn’t recognize and then you heard it. The smooth voice that used to comfort you, that whispered to you promises about the future, the one that you never thought you’d hear again. Of course, until the night of the black out.

You froze in place and Pepper made sure to stand a step in front of you as the man turned to approach you. “(Y/n)!” he breathed.

“What?”

That was all you could even think of saying as you stared in bewilderment, your mind reeling at this new development of the current situation. Pepper made sure she was standing in between you and Carlton and close enough in case something happens again.

“How is this possible?” you asked, turning to your boss.

“Okay, (Y/n/n), I think you should sit down,” Tony said, stepping towards the two of you. “I’ve asked you here because I hoped that there was something that you knew that might help. Something that you didn't know was relevant. Also, he’s an annoying ass and he wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“That he’s annoying, or that you may have information?” Tony joked, earning a glare from Carlton, but it did ease the tension in your shoulders.

“Both.”

Pepper brought up a projection showing cameras around New York during the black out, the energy surge originating from Doctor Octavius’s old lab. “As we both know Doctor Octopus had been working on a project but the level of progress of it is unknown after Ock’s accident. From what I remember, Carlton Drake had met with Octavius before this all happened.”

“And you were hoping that I would know?” You crossed your arms, walking towards the projector, hoping that you could bring up any useful memory.

“This Spider squad claims to be from different realities and were teleported around the same time when the black out happened, thus having jaded Peter Parker here and emo Drakey Drake,” Tony said, gesturing a hand at the group. “You know I never pried too much in your private life, but the guy said you were engaged, so I thought to ask.”

You shook your head with a frown. “No. I never said yes to him,” you said as you tried to avoid lingering on that very day that he proposed, “And there were many things that he hid from me. But… his head researcher, Doctor Dora Skirth, is a close friend of mines. She wanted to speak to you about this. She said she found something useful that could help. It’s likely she found something of his when she was clearing up the lab.”

“Skirth, huh?” Tony muttered, allowing you to enter her contact information before calling her.

Her camera blinked into view. “Mister Stark, I’m Doctor Dora Skirth,” she said quickly, eyes downcasted as she shuffled papers around. When she raised her head, her eyes widened seeing who was standing behind you and Tony. “So, it’s true, then. He managed to finish it.”

“What do you have for us, Skirth?”

She cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses as she focused on the information she found. “I’ve managed to find blueprints of the Collider, this super machine that William Fisk commissioned to Doctor Otto Octavius. I’ll send a copy to you right now. The goal was to manipulate the bridge between worlds and use the machine to travel in between them. To restore the realities to its rightful order, we would have to create a code to input into the collider’s system to reverse the effects. Now, we don’t know how flawless this machine is, but travelling through different universes would have to mess up with their atoms as their bodies will react to being in a foreign universe.” Dora paused to gesture to the Spider group. “If it starts happening, it’ll only grow worse from here.”

Tony pointed at the group. “Anyone experiencing headaches? Upset stomach, diarrhea? Or maybe your atoms have been periodically ripped apart?”

They all nodded. You couldn’t help but note how this Carlton carried himself differently than the Carlton you knew. He stood near the front of the group, but allowed others to talk, his eyes focused as he listened closely to them. When he felt you staring, you quickly turned back to the screen where the blueprint of the Collider was now being pulled up.

“Well, then,” he said, taking a sip of whiskey, “Let’s get rocking.”

Tony offered the Spider group a place to stay at the tower before the meeting was dismissed. You turned to leave as soon as you could, ignoring the other Carlton as you walked passed. You couldn’t help but think of all the progress you had made from the emotional stress that he had caused you, pausing to assess what you were currently feeling. It wasn’t sadness. Anger and confusion, surely, but there was something else that you weren’t so sure about. How were you going to tell your therapist about this?

Little by little, there were times where your conversations with your friends back in San Francisco would brush on the subject of Carlton. Little by little, it stopped triggering a big emotional response from you. In a way, your therapist had said, you were still in some state of mourning that was slowly fading. What could have been and what you had lost.

As long as you don’t get too involved with that Carlton Drake from the other universe, it should be fine.

#carlton drake x reader #carlton drake #carlton drake imagine #marvel imagine #venom imagine #venom movie #science & faith #s&f #into the spiderverse inspired

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storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 7

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger warning: None that i can think of

Word count: 2377

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, I ain’t gonna wear this weird…uh…um…shirt I guess? To the damn ball.” Mammon threw the garment at Asmodeous bed, who made a cartoonish shriek.

“Mammon! You idiot! Do you have any idea how long it takes to steam the wrinkles off? And you are not going to do it, so its me the one who has to put their skin at risk in that heat just because you can’t be careful.” Asmodeous took the piece of clothe and hanged it on his closet, making sure no wrinkle was visible.

“Whatever, I don’t care. I have more important things to be doing than playing dress up with you two.”

“Who said I was playing dress up?” Mc looked up from the bed, barely maintaining eye contact with Mammon.

“Then why are ya here?”

“You literally dragged me out of my room so I would accompany you here.” Mc sat down; their eyes now open but not focusing on anything. “Plus, Asmo said there would be wine, so.” Asmodeous laughed and stuck his tongue out at Mammon, who huffed and growled in response. “C’mon, just sit down. Everything in here has been so chaotic since…well, God arrived that Lucifer has a headache 24/7. We are the only ones acting normal.” Mc sighed, they were worried for the others, but the demos refused to talk about what had happen, what that caused them to act this way.

“That’s not true, Levi hasn’t left his room in three whole days. That’s very Levi of him.” Asmo gave Mammon a glass of wine before sitting on the bed. Mammon made a point of sniffing it in case Asmo put anything weird in it, before just chugging everything down in one go.

“That ain’t entirely true. The other day, I went to see Levi, and the dweeb wasn’t doing anything. And I don’t mean as in, wasting time playing games and shit, no, he was literally buried under at least seven blankets and was just starring at Henrys tank all the time. Barely even acknowledge me.”

“Is that so?” Prompted Asmo.

“I payed him a visit. There was no sound on or anything, I called him, and he just yelled for me to leave him alone. I want to help but how can I help when he won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Mc groaned; they loved the seven idiots. At this point they were family to Mc, and that meant what affected the boys affected them.

“That is a little weird of him. I mean, he would never reject anyone that offered to watch anime or play videogames with him.” Asmo refilled all the cups.

The three of them stayed silent for a moment. Asmodeous chewed on his lower lip before sighing.

“Has Satan talked to any of you?” Mammon and Mc shook their heads. “Me neither, I tried giving him a book the other day, and he literally threw it at my face. He is out of control.” Once again, silence, this time broken by Mammon.

“What about Belphie and Beel? I haven’t seen Beel eat more than half a plate of food for over a week now. He IS the Avatar of Gluttony. His whole thing is food.”

“We baked him some cupcakes to try and cheer him up. He didn’t even touch them.” Asmo replied, pointing at Mc and then at himself. “Like, I know they were probably not that good, but they were better than Solomon’s cooking, which mean Beel would normally have eaten them with no problem.”

“Belphegor hasn’t slept in days.” Mc starred at their now empty cup.

“How do ya know that?”

“He won’t leave my room. He has stayed with me for a couple days, every time I wake up, I see him awake. All he does is stare at a bracelet on his hand.” Mc looked up at Asmo and Mammon, they all had the same expression on their faces.

“Anyway,” Asmo tried to sound as chipper as possible, forcing a smile on his lips. “Mammon, you said you had some more important things to care about. What is that all about?”

“Oh, so you know that one-time Mc…Belphie and I working at Hell’s Kitchen?” Mammon’s voice went quiet when mentioning Belphegor before picking up the tone he had started the sentence with. “Well, the dudes still had my phone, and it seems that a customer wants me personally to do his delivery. And get this, they will pay whatever amount I demand, all so I, the Great Mammon deliver some food and stuff. Can you believe this?” Mammon rested his back on the backrest of the chair while taking a long sip.

“That sounds a little suspiciou-” Asmodeous was cut short by Mc’s tired voice.

“I’m worried about them.” Silence fell momentarily in the room. None of them daring to speak up. The situation was getting worse by the day, their family was hurting, and they didn’t even knew why. It was scary, knowing that people you loved were going trough something and not being able to do anything about it.

“So am I” Lucifer’s voice cut in, pulling a chair and taking a whole bottle of wine that had yet to be open.

“Oi! How long have you been listening in?” Mammon jumped at Lucifer’s voice before sitting straight in the chair.

“There was no need for me to “listen in”, you three were talking loud enough that I could hear it in the kitchen.” The bags under the man’s eyes were noticeable, he had a demeanor that screamed how little care the man was putting on himself. His form seemed weaker and his tone did not have the usual authoritative undertone. Lucifer popped off the cork of the bottle and took a long sip. He wasn’t wearing his usual coat, vest open and with no tie.

“Are you okay?” Mc asked, leaving their cup on the side. Lucifer only gave a dry sarcastic laugh before just looking at the ceiling.

“Am I okay? Of course, why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like ever since I saw my father’s face, I have been plagued with nightmares of him hurting another member of my family. Or the fact that when we are supposed to as closer as we can possible be, my brothers and my own son are more shut off than ever. Satan went back to hating me with every fiber of his being, Beelzebulb won’t talk to anyone, Belphegor and Leviathan have just shut off completely from the entire world.” Lucifer sighed, passing a hand through his hair.

Asmodeous felt tempted to take the bottle off from Lucifer, the man was not feeling well, and having him drunk would not do any good. He tried to do so, but Lucifer only shook his head, looking at Asmo, giving his younger brother a small smile before he caught Mammon starring. His expression was that of a child who had found out Santa Clause was not real, of a child whose hero turned out to be just a man who could get hurt, bleed, and die.

In all their years alive, Mammon had never seen Lucifer in such a helpless manner. It was like whatever drive had been keeping him functioning had met its limit, needed replacement or something. The man who was more of a father to any of them that their actual father could ever be, the man who, even though was the literal personification of pride, threw his reputation and believes away and damned himself to a life of servitude all so his little sister could have a shot at a normal life. Mammon would never say this out laud, but he appreciated how much Lucifer had sacrificed for their family.

“Lucifer, I-” Mammon was shushed when Lucifer put up his hand.

“I never told you two, or anyone else for that matter, about this but…after we fell, and Diavolo gave us this house, I promised myself I would do anything to keep my family together, because as long as I had you guys, I thought it would be okay. After all, we had gone through a hell of a war… and yet, somehow, we were still together, even if Lilith wasn’t there with us, I knew she was happy. And I wanted that for us as well, I wanted us to be happy. All of us.” Lucifer chuckled.

For a few seconds, after Lucifer finished, he laughed slightly, with a somber tone to his voice. Before getting up and walking towards the door, once at the edge of it, he turned around, barely even looking at the three stunned members of his family. He wondered where he had gone wrong, where everything had gone to shit, the reasons why he couldn’t protect his family and why were they going through stuff they don’t deserve. He felt his heart ache at the memories of a lifetime ago, at the times up with his Father when they thought he loved them.

He thought of Lilith and how much love she had to give; she was his little sister. And he would have given everything to protect her and every single member of his family, he would crawl through all the realms and sink to the bottom before trading his own life if it was necessary. But he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He was stuck with the weight of his mistakes and the regrets that weighed him down and ate him up every day, every moment of every second of every minute of his existence. This was his life. No matter how much he tried to make the family okay, the universe seemed to punish them all.

Lost in his thoughts, Lucifer arrived at his room. Ignoring the stack of papers in his desk and turning off his phone. Not even Diavolo was going to convince him of waking up early tomorrow. Lucifer kicked his shoes off, and without getting anything else off, he laid in bed, starring at the ceiling and wondering how could he be such a bad father and older brother.

Across the hallway, stood two demons and a human. Whom felt as hopeless as Lucifer. Mc wanted so badly to go after Lucifer and hug him but the first they needed to cry their feelings for a second. Mc got up from the bed, leaving and empty cup on Asmodeous bed and excused themselves. Mammon sighed, passing a hand through his hair. This was all wrong, none of this should be happening, and Mammon wanted to do something about it so badly.

“Mammon.” Asmodeous voice was hoarse and weak. Mammon ignored the feeling of tears accumulating in his eyes in order to pay attention to Asmodeous, who’s hair was covering his facial features while the younger demon starred at the floor.

“I know.” Mammon’s tone mirrored Asmodeous. “Me too Asmo, you and all the other bunch of idiots that live in this house.” Asmodeous laughed for less than a second, looking up, and in that moment, Mammon saw that he had been crying. Mammon moved to give his little brother a hug. They stayed like that for a while, Mammon trying to regain composure while Asmodeous fully sobbed on his older brother’s shoulder.

It was moments like this that showed them how much they did care for one another. Even if they were always fighting, and screaming at one another, they were a family. Lucifer had made sure they stood together for so long and hell would be damned if the mere presence of their father was going to change that fact. They were a family, and nothing was going to change that.

After a few minutes, Mammon left Asmodeous alone, both agreeing to never speak of that again. For their sakes and Lucifer’s. After entering his room, Mammon put his hands over his pool table, taking in everything that had just happened. He wasn’t aware of how long he stood there, starring at nowhere while simultaneously lost in his head. The only reason he snapped out of it was because his phone started ringing.

“What do ya want?” Mammon asked, not bothering to even check who was calling.

“Mammon! Right?” Mammon hummed as an answer. “We finally got a hold of you. Listen kid, the customer is still requesting your presence. They want it to be delivered tonight. You in?” Mammon sighed; he was not having any of it tonight.

“Yeah, listen here bud. Tell the costumer The Great Mammon isn’t interest in delivering no food.” He didn’t even wait for an answer before hanging up and throwing his phone over the bed, flopping in it and trying to fall asleep. Of course, that was interrupted by the phone once again. Mammon groaned. “Oi! I already told you I am not interested. Stop calling.”

“We understand, but the customer stated that in case you refused to deliver we reassured you that he would pay very handsomely.” Mammon sighed.

“How about this, why don’t ya take the order to the man, and you receive the pay, that way you can use that money to check yo damn ears cuz you ain’t listening to what I’m saying. I Ain’t Interested.” With that Mammon hanged up again, he got up from the bed and tried to sigh, but before he even did that the phone started ringing again. “Y’know what? I’m starting to get real mad-”

“Mammon.” That voice… “come now, no need to be so rude.” This time, the voice that came through the phone wasn’t the same. For a moment he couldn’t quite recognize the voice, then in clicked. “I only wish to see my son. Why are you denying me from that?” It was his father.

“You…you were the customer.” Mammon spoke in mild disbelief. He had been so tired and annoyed he didn’t even think of the possibility of his father messing with him. Yet, here he was. Even from the phone Mammon could tell his father had the most devilish grin the man could give. For a moment Mammon felt his head spin while the anticipation of hearing his father’s voice grew. Then, in a deep playful tone, almost gritted yet obviously unwelcome, his father spoke.

“Bingo.”

Aight! Chapter seven people! This one is bit different than the normal format of “God finds a brother alone and manipulates him.” In all honestly, this chapter was not meant to exist at all, i started it trying to write the chapter for the next brother but it turned into this. I still hope y’all like this one. Next chapter will be again fallow my usual format, and I’ll probably post it Wednesday. That is all for today, hope y’all had enjoyed it sweeties :3

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it.

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience.

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all.

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands.

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving.

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down.

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place.

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest.

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence.

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder.

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.”

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer.

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed. Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala.

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know.

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty.

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad).

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?”

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed.

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side.

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught. They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.”

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss.

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised.

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps.

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even if his father knew, they were at war with the man.

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord.

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous, to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you. No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry.

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back.

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind.

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his.

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp.

Tim recognized it then, who it was.

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master.

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching.

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs.

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to.

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.”

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.”

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath.

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

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weaselbeaselpants · 4 years

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Rewritten Alastor notes (TW: NSFL, Cannibalism, Vore, animal abuse)

This is unexpected I know, but I’m suffering from a major headache and I need something to do.

Alastor the Radio Demon in my non-existent Hazbin repaint. Things he has in common with his canon self:

Human soul of a man who died in the 1930s. Was a cannibal in life.

Tried (and succeeded) to corrupt a bunch of lesser demons.

Respected by the big-bads of Hell, like Valentino and Vox. Feared among them as well because he creeps even them out.

Deer + wendigo motif still very much still at play.

Still asexual, though I wouldn’t recommend putting him on any pride flags.

Gets along with Charlie and loves antagonizing Vaggie.

Treats Nifty and Husk as goons and/or pets.

His weird hair tufts emote along with him like ears. I don’t know if they are ears though. I think Viv has the right idea not confirming what the frack is up with his anatomy.

Can’t ever stop smiling. Ever. That aspect of Al’s design is something real special that I think Viv has the right idea implementing. A character who can not stop smiling makes for a lot of terrifying and hilarious reactions. Just look at Sans near eternal smile.

Inexplicably likes pineapple pizza. Funny out-of-character gag.

AGAIN: CONTENT WARNING ESPECIALLY FOR ANYONE WITH TRIGGERS TO THE STUFF ABOVE. KEEP READING AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Changes made to his character:

I do not mind Hazbin being crass and vile and offensively-over the top as long as it has a good grasp on what the joke is (like Helluva Boss :>). My Hazbin thesis is that all of the characters are “demons” in as much as they’ve done bad things or were bad people, but are not maniacal or sadistic + there’s hope for some of them. THEN there’s Alastor who absolutely lives up to the demon-reputation and did genuinely evil things in life. Alastor’s the kind of person who absolutely should be purged but has escaped because those who are supposed to be for justice aren’t threatened by him.

He isn’t involved in voodoo or has any affluent Creole background. With all do respect that aspect feels just a little too lifted from Dr. Facilier. My Alastor’s background is American “mutt” with an Algonquian-native grandmother.

His sin in life - and in Hell itself - is Gluttony. Taking a page from the OG Wendigo mythos, which describes them more as pulsating, gorging Elderitch abominations, Al’s MO in the show is to consume everyone and everything there is.

Alastor’s demonic powers are presented as a wave of high frequency radio static that messes with a demon’s psyche so much it physically hurts them. Al then scoops up his victim’s souls to power his microphone and everything that demon had in it’s possession beforehand crumbles or becomes his.

Angel is afraid of him. Unlike in the canon cartoon, Angel is the one who recognizes Alastor and knows he’s dangerous, not Vaggie. Turns out, Angel had a run in with the Radio Demon sometime during the mid twentieth century (so when they were both pretty young in demon years). Angel tried to steal Al’s microphone but Al flung a nasty radio-frequency in Angel’s face, taking out one of his eyes. Angel was present during Al’s first attempt to take over Hell, so he immediately knows Al’s bad news and Alastor never misses the opportunity to mess with Angel in season 1.

Alastor is a shape-shifter. In what is probably the most grizzly detail about my take, he technically self-mutilates in order to re-imagine himself ala the Hellraiser Cenobites - which he does quite a bit to hide from Charlie’s parents.

Technically, Al is naked. What looks like a suit is actually his flesh. Look closely at you’ll see that he’s all stitched together like a crude taxidermy piece. Beneath his “skin” are his bones; which all look like mechanical radio parts and move independently of another. Sometimes Al tears them out if he thinks his “wiring needs to be reworked”, which is Al for ‘feeling an emotion’ and he doesn’t like that.

The motif my Alastor is supposed to invoke is everything about him was “stolen” and crudely pieced back together: he collects and traps other demons inside his microphone; he eats by unhinging his mouth and swallows in one gulp. Alastor’s anatomy invokes a lot of vore imagery as well as Ero Guro. Despite being ace, there is a sexual (but not arousing) edge to his character, which leads to a lot or horror and humor.

Alastor does not like that he was human. He’s even in denial of it and insists “I was always a demon. I simply had a nightmare that I was a man. Now I’m awake and the nightmare is long gone”.

Alastor’s human name was Edward; he was a sad, pathetic little man whom everyone walked all over. Edward wanted to be a radio host but was denied that position cause he ‘couldn’t smile’. Edward was deeply disturbed and fixated on ingesting human meat (a condition called ‘wendigo psychosis’). Despite committing murder and then eating all his victim’s bodies, he can’t recall most of the process and was frightened by his behavior, knew what he was doing was wrong. BUT he never went about treating his addiction with meat; he’d have “cold periods” where he didn’t kill and thought he was ‘fixed’ only for his psychosis to resurface.

Alastor’s demon self aims to be all the things that he wasn’t in life: happy, fulfilled, complete, confident, cheery, and satisfied. Al relishes in his self-made creepy image and no doubt took his demon name from a famous Alastair from his youth.

Al’s character arc throughout the ‘show’ (there is no show, why am I treating this like genuine pitch bible blah) goes as follows:

For the first season leading up the the finale and beginning of season 2, Al pretends to be Charlie’s friend until he backstabs her and takes over her hotel to harvest the ‘redeemed’ souls so he can restart his broadcasting-takeover that was just barely stopped years before. Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel intercept him however and destroy his microphone - which holds all the souls - causing him to loose his power. Charlie personality terminates his physical form leaving only his ‘heart’, which Lucifer makes Charlie eat so that Alastor will forever be under her control. The downside to this is Al’s soul+heart+person exists within Charlie now, and he of course speaks to her within her mind, trying to discourage, belittle, threaten or taunt her plans and feelings throughout the second season. Season 3′s opening would be about the main cast trying to get Vaggie out of Heaven once they learn it’s as corrupted as Hell. Charlie needs Al’s expertise, so she vomits him up. Al agrees to help her but is obviously not happy and vows to get his freedom back. In the second half of season 3, the main characters have to lay low while the angels partake in spiritual warfare against Lucifer. So Charlie and co. escape to the human world disguised as humans. Though an agreement, Alastor comes along and aquires a foreclosed motel for the demon’s to live (he intends to trap mortal souls while he’s there, though Charlie intercepts this too).

Angel and co. end up discovering Al’s human identity (something he tried to cover up any evidence of having in Hell) and invite his now elderly human daughter to the motel. It works too well however, and the fright of seeing his daughter again triggers an all out anxiety attack in Alastor causing him to merge with the motel. Charlie has to traverse his insides to try and get to his crumbling psyche which would be very Akira-inspired.

Meanwhile, inside Alastor’s mind we see his demon form finally baring a frown and freaking out as the pathological spirits of his victims sing to him in a radio booth about the life he’d chosen and the lives he took away from them. (Yes, this is absolutely taken from Bojack Horseman)

Once Charlie cuts to his core+Al faces the fact that there never was another demon responsible for his actions, it was always just him, Al relinquishes his hold on that motel and his physical form become that of a baby deer, whom Charlie nicknames ‘Deerlastor’. Deerlastor doesn’t appear to have any of Al’s powers, memories, or personality but Angel and the other demon’s Al’s abused insist on killing it, sure that this is just another one of Al’s weird forms. Because of Alastor’s absence, it takes a lot longer and harder for the main cast to get back to hell and help Charlie’s dad’s stop the (previously human) angels who want to wipe purge ALL of hell.

To take out the main ‘enlightened’ angel that’s in the middle of trying to purge ALL of Hell, the demon’s need a power of their own. Deerlastor agrees to sacrifice its body and because of that, Alastor pops out from the deer’s body and head on collides w. the big bad angel-villain, eliminating both their souls. Alastor gets no proper redemption arc kids, he just gets to be the one to take out the main villain.

Edward/Alastor’s daughter’s name was Lavinia and she was the closest thing to genuine ‘love’ he had in his life and the only person who obviously looked up rather than ignore or abuse Edward. When Ed was arrested and confessed to his crimes, his daughter wasn’t allowed to see him and the knowledge that her father was a cannibalistic serial killer haunted Lavinia all her life.

His crimes were not sexual. This is NOT AN EXCUSE for what he did though because -

- two of his victims were children. Yep.

Unlike the rest of the filth-spewing demons, Al doesn’t appreciate racism or sexism. He thinks himself a feminist for his day...despite also having killed women and children. Keep in mind he’s also from the 30s, so he’s as “progressive” as people could be for back then, AND he believes that his partial native ancestry means it’s okay to call himself a ‘wendigo’.

In reference to an oooooooooooold ref sheet Viv made for Alastor back in the day, Deerlastor gets shot in the head and dismembered a lot but always gets up like nothing’s wrong.

Alastor does not like electroswing. He likes jazz, doowop, twist, show jingles, and lots of American Folk ballads. You know, the stuff they’d jam the radio’s with back in the 30s.

Big influences on my Alastor are They Shoot Horses Don’t They?, American Murder Song, My Friend Dahmer (a graphic novel), Llamas with Hats and Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk.

(Ima thinking of renaming my Hazbin gang to better distinguish them between the canon. Alastor’s the only one who won’t be renamed though, just probably spelled a different way. (Alystar, Alaster, Alastar))

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewritten #the radio demon #rewrite #TW: GORE #tw: cannibalism #tw: child abuse #tw: animal death #tw: ero guro #tw: vore

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meandnotyou1001 · 4 years

Text

I keep reading Irondad fanfics (because it's almost life) and so many of them are centered around Peter and his emotional problems, which is all well and good, but it gave me an idea. Here is my first ever one-shot to be posted on Tumblr. (I have others on Fanfiction.net.)

Ask For Help

An Irondad fic. Part 1.

Summary:

Someone needs help and it's not who we're expecting. How are Karen and Friday going to get them the help they need when it's impossible to ignore certain protocols?

Warning: Attempted Suicide. Not a lot of suicidal thoughts, because it’s from someone else’s point of view. If this is going to trigger you, please don’t read. I’d rather you be safe, than have one more reader. Everyone please take care of yourselves and call for help if you need it.

------------------

Peter didn’t notice it happening. He’d never seen it happen before. Hell, he didn’t even think it could happen, but with hindsight (being 20/20 and all) he kicked himself for how stupid that thought was. Mr. Stark was human, of course he had problems like that. But, all in all, Peter was just a little busy. It was finals week. He was doing EOC’s, AP exams, and finals. It was so hectic and stressful he’d even cut his Spiderman hours by nearly two-thirds.

Peter didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark had texted, repeatedly throughout the last month of school, asking if he’d be by the Tower that day and he answered that he couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark called and told him Pepper was going on a business trip to Shanghai and they should get together for a guys’ night. He couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark said the Exvengers (or Rogues, Peter prefered that name) had settled back in the Compound to mooch off of him and use him as their punching bag once more. He was sorry, Mr. Stark, he would love to hang out and meet the Avengers, but he was busy.

So, Peter wasn’t really concerned about anything but his stupid AP Litertature exam one Thrusday night when he sat down at his desk to study. He was ten minutes in, when his phone dinged an alert. Looking up, Peter saw a police report about a mugging gone wrong, ending with two injured and one dead. The teen frowned, but reluctantly put his phone down. Aunt May had been very clear about him Spidermanning during finals month.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, Peter’s phone dinged again. Looking up, Peter saw another police report. A jewelry store robbery with nearly four million dollars in jewels stolen. Peter frowned again. Mr. Stark said education came first, before Spiderman. He put the phone down.

Ten minutes. A report on a drug bust that ended in a shoot-off with six dead. Peter stared at the report. “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” his AI answered from his phone.

“You know I’m supposed to be studying for my AP final right?”

“Of course, Peter. Stay in School Protocol states you are not to go out as Spiderman, when you are studying for an exam.”

Karen’s response seemed innocent, but why on earth was she sending Peter police reports. She knew how much it irritated him, not being able to help, but unable to disobey Aunt May and Mr. Stark for fear of the consequences.

“You are studying very hard, Peter, perhaps you should reward yourself.” His AI’s voice was kind.

Peter hummed lightly, feeling just a little, like he was being played, but staring at the police report, he found he didn’t care. “This is giving me a headache anyway, maybe an hour or two will give my brain a break.”

Pulling on the suit, he was surprised when Karen automatically stated, “Peter, you are supposed to be studying for your AP exam, I will have to inform Mr. Stark that you are going out.”

“What?” Peter demanded. “You’re the one you said I should go out.”

“I would not do that, Peter,” Karen countered, “as it goes against my Stay in School Protocol.”

Peter blinked. “Screw my homework giving me a headache, all your mixed messages are giving me a headache. Fine, tell Mr. Stark, but while you’re at it, tell him it’s just for a little while and cause I need a break.”

“Message sent.”

Peter sighed, shaking his head at his AI. “You’re as confusing as any human girl, Karen, but I still love you.”

“Thank you, Peter. I love you as well.”

Peter didn’t respond as he climbed out the window and started his patrol.

It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, just as he was turning to go home, hoping for a full night of rest and at least part of a chance to actually pass said exam, when Karen sent him an alert.

“Peter,” his AI addressed him, “Friday says there seems to be a problem at the Tower.”

“What?” Peter was suddenly on high alert and the AP exam far from his mind. “Is Mr. Stark there?!” Peter didn’t wait for an answer as he quickly began to throw himself from building to building, as quickly as he could.

“Friday states she is unable to give Spiderman Mr. Stark’s status, as it is against the Boss’s direct orders.” Karen told him.

Peter faltered just for a second. “That isn’t what I asked.”

It wasn’t a question, but Karen answered, “I know, Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind shot to their weird conversation just before he’d gone on patrol and something in his stomach sank. What was going on with his AI, and now Friday to. He pushed himself harder to get across New York City faster. Something was up, something neither Karen or Friday could tell him, something that had Karen loopholing her protocols to get Peter on patrol, because now that he thought about it, now it made too much sense.

Peter slammed into the Tower, crawling as fast as he could up the side of the building aiming for one of the less occupied floors. “Karen, can you ask Friday to open a window?”

“Friday says the Boss had ordered no one to disturb him.” Karen responded, seeming to completely ignore Peter’s question once more. “She also says, any and all defensive protocols are prohibited from being used on Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind faltered again, as he continued his frantic climb. “You two are giving me whiplash with your weird-ass answers,” he remarked. Peter wasn’t stupid though. For whatever reason, Mr. Stark didn’t want him to know what was going on, but Friday wanted him to anyway. Friday was telling him, without breaking any protocols, that he needed to break into Stark Tower, to help Mr. Stark. Or he was going insane as two top-of-the-line AI’s glitched out.

So, he did just that. Busting through a window in Mr. Stark’s lab, Peter let himself in, crouching on the ceiling ready for a fight. “Where is he?” He asked, not caring which AI answered.

“I am prohibited from giving Spiderman the Boss’s location or state of being,” Friday remarked, Peter could have sworn she sounded frantic, and pissed.

“Karen, where is he?” Peter begged, not even wanting to know why the two had suddenly taken to calling him Spiderman, instead of Peter.

“There is a heat signature in the penthouse, in Mr. Stark’s suite, the bathroom,” Karen answered, showing Peter on his HUD. “The temperature of the body is extremely low.”

Peter’s stomach dropped to his feet and suddenly he felt like throwing up, but he pushed it it a side, deliberated only for a second, before diving back out the broken window, to launch himself up the side of Stark Tower, crashing into the penthouse, and tearing toward Mr. Stark’s suite. His heart was pounding, his head at war as desperation told him he was imagining things, but logic told him he was right on the money.

Peter burst into the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Not even bothering to knock on the door, Peter tore it off its hinges and tossed it aside. “Mr. Stark!” Peter froze upon seeing his hero, his mentor, his father! slumped against the bathroom counter, pale as a ghost, just as still and in a pool of his own blood. It was Uncle Ben! It was Uncle Ben all over again! But worse! It was worse! Way! Way! Way! WORSE!!!!

“Peter, the best course of action would be to put pressure on his wounds, secure his airways, and get him medical care immediately.” Friday’s frantic voice cut him out of his spiralling panic attack.

“Y-yeah!” he gasped, dropping to his knees, trying not to hurl as he splashed blood everywhere that it already wasn’t. He latched onto Mr. Stark’s bleeding wrist, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, without accidentally hurting Mr. Stark more. “M-Mr. Stark?! Tony! Can you hear me?! Don’t you have those Iron-medic-bots, Friday?!” he demanded as he laid Mr. Stark on his back, practically in tears when he realized the man was breathing. He couldn’t clam his own heart long enough to hear if Mr. Stark’s was beating, but it seemed to be, if he was breathing.

“I do, Peter, but without an override of the Boss’s orders I cannot use them.” Peter didn’t have time to think about what this could mean, regarding how the two AI’s had gotten him to the Tower in the first place, all he cared about was his mentor.

“Mr. Stark! Tony! How do I override your stupid protocols?! Please! Don’t leave me! Please?! How do I override them, Friday?!” He screamed.

“Ms. Potts.” Friday stated.

“Call her then!” Peter cried.

“Boss’s protocols--”

“Karen!” Peter was desperate, bordering on hysterical.

“Calling Ms. Potts,” Karen responded.

At the same time, Friday said, “Peter, there are towels just above your head. Be careful of your strength, you could hurt Mr. Stark if you hold too tight.” Peter scrambled for the towels, using his web-shooters when he couldn’t reach them without letting go of Mr. Stark.

“Mr--Tony! Please, don’t die one me!” Peter didn’t quite know how in the hell he wasn’t bawling his eyes out, but his eyes remained dry, almost as if his body was aware of how desperately he needed his vision clear.

“Tony, Babe, I love you but seriously, if I’m going to do this stupid share-holder meeting for you, you can’t call me in the middle of it, using Peter’s AI isn’t going to change that. You’re lucky we’re on a lunch break right now.” Ms. Potts' voice suddenly spoke in Peter’s, making him visibly jump.

“M-Miss Potts!” Peter exclaimed. He was honestly surprised it came out, rather than the sobbing mess he felt like he was inside. “Mr. Star--”

“Ms. Potts, Friday needs a direct override of the Boss’s protocols.” Karen interrupted in an urgent voice.

“Friday, directly override every one of Tony’s protocols that you want. Access code: Even when I’m wrong, I’m right. ” Ms.Potts answered without hesitation. “Peter, what’s going on? Where’s Tony?”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was breaking down. There was an adult present (sort of) he no longer had to be strong. He choked on a sob as his eyes blurred, but hardly had time to really get into it, before several loud crashes echoed through the building and two Iron Man suits erupted from the floor.

Peter shrieked as Mr. Stark was ripped from his hands and placed into a silver and red suit with the American Red-Cross symbol on it. He had very little time to do much else as he too was encased in a suit, though this one was the typical red and gold.

The two sets of armor shot out of the building with a blatant disregard for property damage and shot through the sky toward the north, gaining speed and going supersonic in a matter of minutes, going only as fast as was safe for Mr. Stark.

“I am transporting them to the Compound,” Friday announced in Peter’s ear. “Helen Cho is being contacted. I am sending Happy for Mrs. Parker. Your plane is being prepped and will be ready for take-off by the time you arrive, Boss Lady. Emergency Level: Yellow. Guardian Angel Protocol activated. Rhodey has been notified and is inbound in the War Machine armor. EAT: Five minutes.”

Peter’s mind seemed to blank. One minute he’s shooting toward the Compound at a speed that made his insides turn on each other, the next, he was in a long white hallway surrounded by the Avengers. There was frantic, yet hushed whispers as everyone but Vision questioned Mr. Stark’s wounds.

Distantly, he heard a voice calling his name, but all he could think about was Mr. Stark’s cold prone form on his bathroom floor. Emergency Level: Yellow. He knew what yellow meant. He understood what had happened. He understood now, why the AI’s had been acting strange. He knew everything!

Aside from: why?!

He couldn’t understand! Why would Mr. Stark do it?! Why would he feel that way?! He was Tony Stark! He was amazing! He was always so strong and confident! He was always ready with a snide remark and a smile, teasing Peter, but never lacking in his praise! He was always perfectly put together and understanding and patient!

But you've seen a mask like that before, a voice in his head defended. You knew it was possible.

"But not for Mr. Stark!" he wanted to scream. He never imagined it could have happened to his perfect father-figure, who never so much as faltered.

“Peter!” He jerked out of his thoughts and into his aunt’s arms. Happy appeared behind her, face grim as he went to Vision and Colonel Rhodes, who stood whispering in the corner near the door. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Baby,” his aunt tried to sooth in his ear.

“Why?” he asked, his voice sounded so dead he almost flinched. Was that really his voice?

“After everything?!” May demanded. “I...no one should have to see someone they love like that, especially a child.”

“So, is someone going to tell us what the fuck is going on?” All eyes turned to Sam Wilson.

“Language!” May and Happy snapped at the same time.

“This is no time for games,” Natasha Romanov countered coldly.

“There is a child present!” May snarled, not even a little intimidated by the assassin-spy turned Avenger.

Before any of them could continue the war, Ms. Potts came sprinting down the corridor barefoot and frantic. “What the hell happened?” She begged. “Nothing has changed!”

Colonel Rhodes and Happy shook their heads looking lost. “Not in the last month, Boss,” Happy said. “Coffee every morning with me.”

“I called at lunch,” Rhodey supplied.

“We had dinner together,” Vision agreed.

All four sets of eyes turned to Aunt May and Peter. Peter flinched in confusion, but Aunt May spoke. “It's a month before school lets out. They've started EOCs, AP testing, and finals. He's been busy, but he texts him all day.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Wanda Maximoff asked, looking particularly at Vision.

But Peter had put the pieces together and he understood exactly what changed. “It’s my fault?!” He gasped, suddenly feeling like the world, already wobbly and confusing, was jerked out from under him. He was free-falling.

“No!” Aunt May turned to him. “No! It’s not!”

“Yes, it is!” Peter cried, tearing away from her as the world spun. “I’ve been blowing him off! I kept telling him I was busy!”

“No, Pete! Baby, he knew you had finals! You text him all the time!” His aunt tried to reassure him.

“It doesn’t matter!” Peter cried, suddenly unable to breath. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think! He couldn’t think past the image of Mr. Stark slumped in a puddle of his own blood! “It doesn’t matter! He comes first! He should always come first!”

“Pete! Peter, breathe! Breathe, Sweetie. Follow me. In, 2...3...4, out, 2...3...4.” Peter tried his hardest to follow his aunt’s words as his mind continued to bake up cruelty after cruelty at his failure.

He’d driven Mr. Stark to suicide!!

“Attempted suicide?” Falcon asked, a conversation having happened during Peter's panic attack.

"That is a coward's way out," Scarlet Witch snarled.

Several things happened at once. Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Happy all jerked forward ready to rip the girl a new one.

"I agree," Steve Rogers stated.

Vision took on a sad sort of disappointed look, Black Widow had no reaction toward the words, but Falcon looked pissed.

Aunt May froze.

Peter...Peter stepped forward and faster than any of them could think, let alone see, a SLAP! and CRACK! resonated through the hall.

And the door at the end of the hall opened to reveal Dr. Helen Cho.

#fanfic #fanfiction #Irondad #Ironman #Spiderman #spiderson #Ironddad/sipderson #Iron-dad/spider-son #hurt/comfort #family #love #the first time he calls him dad

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch6

Cause...

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

Word count - 3,214

A quick note - I have gotten a few requests for permission to create fan art of this fic. This goes out to all of you - Go nuts. I'm honored that anyone gets inspired by my work and I will never have a problem with someone being creative. I'd love to see anything you guys make, but if you aren't comfortable I still want you to do it. Have fun :)

__________

You sighed as the last patient left the room, alone at last. Thoughts raced through your mind, whizzing like Mentos in a bottle of Coke. Too much happened today, you needed the chance to process and assess.

First of all, you outright lied to your boss. You risked your career, your reputation and integrity, and for what? Why did you do such an idiotic thing? It made no sense, but it was quickly becoming a pattern. First the hidden sketch, then the incomplete notes regarding your sessions, and now this. What was wrong with you?

Second, walking in on V’s…

You pursed your lips as blood rushed to your face. Even thinking about it made you feel like an idiot.

Third, the artist’s behavior with the other patients. You’d imagined a variety of possibilities for the session, but not once had you pictured him teaching, showing patience and compassion. The man seemed limitless in his ability to surprise you.

However, you struggled to believe the moment was genuine after the wink. Was he only putting on an act for your benefit? If so, why?

If his goal was to convince you of his stability the wink was a stupid choice, and V was anything but stupid. Had he simply meant it as a playful gesture, a manifestation of your strange relationship? Unlikely, but possible. His version of an inside joke, perhaps.

Or he may have only wanted to throw you off. He loved playing mind games, after all. It would fit what you knew of him so far, but something still felt off about the exchange. None of the scenarios brought you any comfort or reassurance.

Fourth on your list of weird things that happened today; his painting. Since several others already saw it, there was no chance you could keep it from his file. All you could do was cross your fingers and hope Malphas didn’t read into it too much.

You glanced at it every few seconds as you gathered the used brushes and rinsed away the paint, scrubbing at the palettes until they returned to their pristine white. He truly was gifted, there was no denying that. Even with your limited understanding of art, his skill was obvious.

But that wasn’t why you couldn’t stop looking at it.

No, that was due to the subject of his work. You took another look as you set the supplies aside to dry, searching for insights into his thoughts. Any detail might prove crucial to his treatment, regardless of what the image made you feel.

It wasn’t your job to feel; only to treat.

He’d created a sunset over a grey building, windows dripping with what could only be blood. Barren trees and wilted grass framed a narrow stone path, a pair of bats in mid-flight between their desolate branches. Every stroke led the eye to the two figures traversing the scene, their likenesses too familiar to ignore.

Kotomi’s form featured energetic shades of scarlet, evocative of rage and hatred. A sickly green hue replaced the normal chocolate shade of her almond eyes and a cruel grin twisted her lips. She resembled a demon or a monster from an old myth. Devoid of her usual radiance and beauty, leaving only spite and fury behind.

Beside her stood a figure that could only be yours. Even with her face turned away, it was clear from the hairstyle and clothing. Unlike with Kotomi, V used vivid purples and blues to create your image. He’d taken the time to use a finer brush, adding details ignored in all other areas. The gentleness of his strokes stunned you, but not as much as the tiny orb of black resting right where your heart lied.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Yet the most disturbing aspect of the image was the tightly clenched fist in the foreground, ebony lines running from knuckle to wrist. V’s hand, without a doubt. There, his technique shifted to an almost surreal level of intentional distortion. No other word suited the twisted lines or the overly bony fingers.

Is this from the night he had that episode? Did he see me and Kotomi leaving? How? He should’ve been restrained still!

You pursed your lips and unhooked the canvas, laying it on the counter to dry. There was no doubt it was you, the pattern of the shirt matched what you wore that day.

Is it possible that’s what triggered his episode? But why? Why would that make him angry?

You told yourself he envied your freedom, but the thought rang with falseness. The truth was there, plain for all to see in his work if they only knew what to look for. Why else would he paint you and Kotomi so differently?

Yet you refused to allow the words to form in your head.

Denial had its uses.

Over the next few days, you tried to keep from thinking about the painting. It was in the system and out of your control, only time would tell what consequences waited for you, if any. There was nothing to gain from thinking on it further.

Despite your best efforts, it snuck its way into your mind more than once. how could it not? It was stunning work.

In your daily private sessions, the artist created new pieces to add to his growing file. Scenes of carnage and mayhem, death and disaster. Each featured himself or Griffon, but never any others. No new details. Relief at not finding yourself his subject again mixed with disappointment at the lack of new information with every scanned image.

Today was no exception.

The page in your hands displayed the man himself swimming in red with an angelic smile. You sighed as the door to your office clicked shut as Kevin took V back to his quarters yet again. If the man just talked, this would be so much easier, but he refused to answer any questions about his past.

Maybe he’s not as interesting as I thought…

You pursed your lips. It was too early to jump to conclusions. He needed more time to develop trust, that’s all. You just had to be patient.

A harsh ping broke your reverie as an email notification lit your screen. The sender marked it as top priority and you clicked on the tab; maybe this could keep you busy for a while. A new patient? Changes to protocol?

Oh, no… it’s from Malphas.

He knows! Shit!

It was foolish to imagine he wouldn’t notice. What were you thinking, allowing it to get this far? Honestly, the man wasn’t even that interesting. He certainly wasn’t worth your career, not after so many years in medical school. Plus, you still owed thousands of dollars in student loans. You couldn’t afford to be set back, too much was at stake.

Calm down! Think it through, come on!

Your heartbeat raced as you read the message again, just to be sure. It wouldn’t do to overreact.

Do I need to be concerned about the nature of your relationship with your patient?

It was phrased as a question. All Malphas had was the painting, he probably didn’t have a clue about the rest. You’d been careful, nobody except you and V knew about the other sketches or the incident before the first group session. By the time Kevin entered the room, the artist was fully covered and the orderly was the least observant person you’d ever known.

It wasn’t too late.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a suitable response in moments. Everything rode on how well you covered your ass today; a single wrong word and you were done for.

Absolutely not. The patient is developing an attachment to me, but I assure you I remain nothing but professional. I will not allow the patient’s stance to interfere with treatment.

A sour taste filled your mouth. The lies kept getting worse, but what else could you do? Besides, he was making progress. It was worth it to restore him, right?

It had to be.

You waited a few minutes to hit send; it might be suspicious if you replied more quickly than usual. What a mess, to even need to consider such a ridiculous deception.

Well, at least I’m not bored.

A snort split your pursed lips and you leaned back in your chair. The first pulses of a tension headache brought your hands to your temples, rubbing away the pain. The last one was years ago, back in med school.

In a way, you enjoyed it. The pain and panic shattered the torturous disinterest you normally felt. Not the most pleasant shift, but a shift nonetheless. You’d take what you could get.

Another ding signaled a response. Your eyes fluttered open to read.

I thought so, but I had to ask. It’s protocol, after all. If it becomes an issue I can assign the patient to a different doctor, but until then keep up the good work!

The pain vanished and the void of disinterest returned, the danger now resolved. You released a deep grown of frustration and tried to reignite the embers of strife, but it was too late.

---V---

The artist swallowed the now familiar capsule with a grimace. What a joke, to think a mere few milligrams could transform him into a mindless sheep. There was no caging the wolf within, not now.

Not ever again.

All he needed to do was escape, then his masterpiece could finally be completed. The thought flooded his senses with delight, joy so profound a bark of laughter spilled from his lips.

Soon…

By his count, a full week had passed since his first group session. Any minute now, Kevin would collect him for round two and he’d finally get to test his theory. If all went smoothly, he might be free by the end of the day.

Only if the circumstances align. Don’t let your impatience ruin everything.

“Yes, Vergil. Any mistakes and all is lost.”

Do not fail me.

He swallowed at the threatening tone in the man’s voice. The consequences of falling short were dire, he knew that. The restraints would return and he’d likely be barred from future group sessions. He may never leave his small quarters again. Never be allowed to touch a paintbrush again.

Unacceptable.

So, he needed to be cautious. Meticulous in his planning. Flawless in execution and creative when something inevitably went wrong. Even the finest plans fell apart at first contact with the enemy, after all. Haste would spell his doom.

Familiar shuffling steps heralded Kevin’s arrival and V smirked, stepping to the door to meet him with arms held at the ready for the ever-present cuffs.

“Hello, Kevin. How’s your family?”

Over the last several days, he made it a point to gain the orderlies trust. It wasn’t hard, considering how straightforward he was. A question here, a comment there…

“Doing good! Sarah starts kindergarten next week, we’re taking her out to celebrate this weekend.”

The metal clicked into place and the artist followed the other man to the security gate. “Wonderful! I imagine she’s excited.”

Kevin chuckled as the guard buzzed them past, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Throughout the elevator ride and the short walk to the group room, V chatted about meaningless drivel as if nothing else mattered. He was grateful the journey didn’t take long, otherwise he might’ve lost his patience and choked the fool.

And then there you were, smiling as you spotted him.

His progress with you was much slower. It needed to be, considering how much he planned to ask of you. If he rushed the process, you wouldn’t survive. After all his careful conditioning this far, the idea alone set his teeth on edge.

“Hi, V. Kevin. Come on in,” you said.

“Hello, Dr. Waras. Are we the first again?” he replied.

You nodded and gestured at the trio of easels, as if he needed encouragement. Enough pleasantries.

The itch returned to his fingers as Kevin brought over an assortment of supplies. Plain white canvas begged for his touch, the surface naked without his work. Lightness spread through his chest and his breath hitched, mind already racing with ideas.

Ken and Kelly arrived moments later, taking the same spots as last week. The round woman looked as bleak as ever, unwashed and lethargic. Her eyes didn’t meet his once as she sat and waited for her supplies. Truly, a waste of space if ever he saw one. He turned to Ken instead.

“Hello, Ken.”

He met the man’s eyes with a slight smile, forcing his face to display honesty and welcome. Even with only an hour of experience around him, V knew Ken didn’t trust easily. Subtlety was his only hope of success.

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started. Today I want you to paint the first thing you think of when I say the word ‘flight’.”

Quite a different prompt from last week.

No kidding. She’s playin’ it safe, Van Gogh.

He ignored them, still focused on Ken. The man stared at him like an alien, struggling to respond. After an uncomfortably long pause, he ever so slowly nodded in greeting. It would do, for now.

V turned back to his canvas. Flight.

Vergil and Griffon were right, loathe as he was to admit it. The word ‘flight’ brought several ideas to mind, most of which were beneath him to bother with. Yet each idea lacked risk or daring, despite man’s natural position on the ground. Last week’s painting must have left a lasting impression, indeed.

In that case, he needed to be conservative. Too much at once and he’d lose you. No matter how strong the temptation, his resistance now meant greater pleasures in the future.

The first stroke of pale sapphire purged every thought from his mind. The second, and a shiver of delight raced up his spine. With the third came goosebumps, and the fourth stole the air from his lungs. He marveled at the myriad of sensations, reveling in how no matter how many times he painted, it always brought the same euphoria.

“Kelly, do you need help?” you asked after ten minutes.

V huffed in frustration at the rude destruction of his trance-like state. If the woman was so hopeless as to need help, she shouldn’t be there. Even a child could paint a bird. How you sounded so understanding, he didn’t know. He listened with half his attention as he continued his work, switching brushes to begin outlining the details.

“I can’t think of anything…”

A soft hum and the rustle of fabric. “Well, let’s start with things that fly. Planes, insects, maybe birds?”

“I don’t like birds.”

The artist tuned out the conversation. There was nothing to gain from listening further, besides annoyance at the woman’s stupidity. He already had plenty of that. Perhaps it was a good time to work on Ken? The three orderlies looked like they weren’t paying a speck of attention, this was as unsupervised as he was likely to get.

He leaned a few inches closer and licked his lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Ken blinked like an owl, his hand frozen in midair several inches from the waiting canvas. “What?”

“I’ll tell you why I’m stuck here if you’ll do the same.”

A pause. V hummed and added several feathers to the wings, dabbing globs of yellow between to represent the melting glue. Ah, Icarus. The first child lost to naive dreams and foolishness.

Well, probably not the first.

“You go first,” Ken replied at last.

V knew his options. Lying would get him nowhere, the man could ask anyone on staff and no doubt they’d tell his story. Any trust between them would be irrevocably damaged. All he could do was frame the truth in a favorable light, or at least try.

“I murdered three people.”

A startled squeak slipped from Ken’s tightened lips. His eyes were comically wide, nostrils flaring. “Why?”

V glanced again at the orderlies, finding them a few feet back with drooping lids. Nothing to be concerned about. “To awaken humanity to the truth. None are safe from the folly of innocence.”

A moment passed in silence, the quiet sound of horsehair on canvas the only soundtrack to the scene. V glanced at Ken every so often, timing his next words with the moment his face began to relax from his instinctual terror.

“Why are you here? What nonsense do they tell you is wrong with you?”

“They… they say I’m delusional,” he began, adding a few shaky dollops of color. “But I swear it’s all true.”

The artist smirked. “Hmm. A familiar tune. Any who are blind to the truth refuse to even admit its possible existence.”

When he next looked toward Ken, the man was gaping at him. Fear still flickered in his shining eyes, but a hint of relief teased at the edges. Perhaps no one believed him before, how perfect. A better opening, he couldn’t imagine.

“Care to share?” he asked with an intrigued expression.

He listened in stoic and attentive silence as Ken spouted off theory after theory, gathering steam as he continued. The man seemed capable of believing anything, from potential coups to life on Mars and everything in between. He may be far more useful than he’d initially imagined. If he were to take advantage, all he needed to do was suggest a conspiracy. Child’s play.

V checked the others in the room. You were still locked in a discussion with Kelly. The woman had yet to even open a container of paint. The orderlies stood at least six feet back, only still vertical because they locked their knees. Fools.

When Ken at last fell silent, V gestured towards you and Kelly with a dismissive flick of his brush. “Look at how she fawns, it’s absurd.”

The man glanced his way and shrugged, his hand still adding blue to form a skyline. Why wait? Might as well get started now.

“Considering the state Kelly's in, the assignment seems like torture. Do you think she might be trying to provoke further depths of pain from the poor woman?”

Another distracted glance, but the first hints of concern appeared. “Who, Dr. Waras?”

“Yes, she seems manipulative, don’t you think?”

Ken’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His brows furrowed in thought and a frown twisted his lips. Perfect, it was working. Now, to drive it home.

“I’d hate to be the target of her scheming. Who knows what she has planned?”

The man closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his unsteady hand leaving a jagged line on his simplistic work.

“Perhaps this place is meant to destroy us. They say they’re trying to heal us, but have you gotten any better? I haven’t.”

Ken whimpered and V struggled to keep the smirk at bay.

“If only there was a way to escape…”

The artist lowered his eyes, his shoulders dipping as if in resignation as he turned back to his own canvas. He heard every harsh breath the man took, every squirm as he battled at his suggestions. In time, he would succumb. He lacked the will power to do anything else.

#fanfic #Be My Nightmare #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc #dmcv #my writing #tw: mental health #alternate universe

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